


Waking under a bad sign

by helena_s_renn, Helenas_bitch, orphan_account



Series: Teh Winchesters [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Memory Loss, Mention of Non-Con of Underaged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 47,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenas_bitch/pseuds/Helenas_bitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate ending to 'Born under a bad sign' (Season 2, episode 14) </p><p> </p><p>  <b>Spoiler alert!</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Past abuse and coerced prostitution of then-teenaged Dean. 
> 
> This is RPG-fic, so it doesn't read the same as 'regular' fiction.

It felt like a thunderstroke. Sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, Sam recognized that they were at Bobby's. The room was a ruined mess. So was his brother's face: Dean was bleeding heavily from his nose and split lip. He was breathing hard, and Sam could see blood soaking through Dean's shirt from a shoulder wound that looked as if it hurt very badly. Bobby was standing next to Sam, holding a red hot poker in his hand. That was when Sam noticed the stench of burnt flesh and the agony in his arm. He looked down at it and found an older, circular, brand overlaid with a fresh one. Grabbing at the injury, he looked at Dean again, and shook his head, trying to cut through his confusion.

Dean returned his stare and finally spoke up. "Sammy?"

Still clueless as to what was going on, Sam asked, "Did I miss anything?"

He couldn't fathom the expression on Dean's face as his brother reared back and right-hooked Sam hard on the cheek. The back of Sam's head hit the wall with a resounding smack. Pain blossomed in his skull, and he watched brief flashes in his head where he was ...

... slashing Steve Wandell's throat...

... cold-cocking Dean in his motel room...

... assaulting Jo...

... shooting Dean...

... trying to murder Bobby...

... punching Dean in the face over and over...

The last flash Sam saw showed him the pain in Dean's eyes as Sam dug his thumb deep into the bullet wound in his brother's shoulder. Dean screamed in agony, and Sam's world turned black.

* * *

In terms of hunting, Dean had had worse days. There were no broken bones and he was still conscious, not that he wanted to be any longer. He'd been chasing after an increasingly distant and... he suspected, insane, Sam. His little brother had disappeared for days. He'd called, and when Dean had gone to get him, his memory was shot full of holes, including where all the blood on his clothes had come from. Then he'd gone missing again. This time, Dean had received urgent texts from Jo as to her whereabouts – she was in hiding, herself, and he'd gone after Sam again. The scene he'd busted up... The air had tasted of sexual frustration and violence. Sam got away, but not before a confrontation and Sam shooting Dean in the shoulder. And why? To prove he could? That he was his own man? Dean couldn't figure it out. 

Sam was twenty-four now, several years past the usual age when serious mental illnesses would manifest in previously normal-seeming teenagers. Schizophrenia. Bipolar. Obsessive-compulsive. Dean had seen shades of all that in Sam, especially when combined with his... abilities, talents, freaky dark-side shit. That would get him killed! More and more, Dean was torn between dropping Sam off at the nearest loony bin and chaining him up in Bobby's basement. 

Speaking of Bobby, it was a wonder he hadn't offed Sam himself when he finally diagnosed the problem as demon possession. That skanky bitch Meg, wearing his brother...! That was all kinds of wrong. He didn't even want to consider what might have gone down if he hadn't found Jo's bar when he did. Sam couldn't explain his whereabouts during his blackouts. Since they knew there was alcohol, cigarettes, weed, grand theft auto and murder involved, there was almost without a doubt sex as well. Dean made a mental note to have Sam tested. 

But not before he satisfied himself for just a fraction of the hell Sam had drug him through, most recently beating the crap out of him somehow, must be demon-power, and jabbing his thumb deep into the shot wound, reopening it and making Dean scream in agony. Purely reflex, he drew back his good arm and busted Sam across the face, scraping his split knuckles into the arrogant, superior smirk he didn't even know. Sam's head slammed against the wall with a loud bang and his eyes rolled back. 

After a few jubilant seconds of being alive, defeating the monster, getting in a good punch, Dean sagged back down on the worn carpet. How the hell had they gotten here? Not long ago, they'd been new lovers, so fucking happy with each other, free of their father and their respective complexes about touching each other, come together for as much guilt-free love – physical and otherwise – that either of them could stand. Then the psychic bullshit had started up again, downward-spiraling to this, whatever this was. 

Dean looked up. Bobby was standing over them, gun in one hand and silver knife in the other. "Don't hurt him," he croaked. 

The older hunter shook his head once, minutely. He sheathed the knife and held out his hand to pull Dean up. There was nothing but pity in his eyes. 

* * *

His head hurt like hell and his arm even more so. When Sam opened his eyes, everything was wobbling around him. He was sitting – kind of, at least – against a wall in a room that he recognized was at Bobby's place. The older man was right there, with a knife in one hand and a gun in the other, smoke rising from an obviously hot poker at Bobby's feet. It didn't make sense.

Bobby's eyes were directed not at him, so Sam followed the stare, wincing when he turned his head, and there was Dean. Sam's stomach turned, not only from his pain, but also from the agonized look on his brother's swollen and disfigured face. Dean's nose was bleeding heavily, but there was blood all over him from possible other sources, too. The hand Dean had clamped on his shoulder suggested that there were more injuries hidden under the clothes.

Dean's eyes were pleading with Bobby, and he said, in a somehow broken voice that Sam almost didn't recognize as his brother's, that Bobby should not hurt 'him', to which Bobby put the knife away and pulled Dean to his feet. Dean looked as if he was fighting hard to get up from the floor, and when he finally stood, he appeared to be just as wobbly on his feet as Sam felt.

Dean and Bobby focused on Sam now, and there was an expression on both their faces that made his bowels cramp as panic set in. Why didn't he remember how he'd ended up on the floor in Bobby's house, injured, with Dean also injured? What had happened? Who was 'he'? And where was Dad?

An ice cold stab of fear hit his guts. Sam had fought Dad all the way to Bobby's place, and now Dad wasn't there, and Dean and Bobby had this concerned look on their faces.

"What?" he hissed out, sharper than intended. "What's happening?"

* * *

"What's happening?!" Dean couldn't keep the disbelief from his tone. "Don't tell me you don't remember."

For those few that survived a demonic possession, memory loss wasn't unheard of, though the victims were more likely to say they had been alive, trapped inside their bodies, unable to stop all the horrible things the demon said and did while 'wearing' them. The blond girl that Meg had possessed had known of every killing, every curse, spell, expletive, and the effective, if delayed death blow – flinging her out of a window. 

Keeping one eye on his brother, who was huddled on the floor, not moving, Dean crossed the room and took a shot of whiskey straight from the bottle. Already the blood was starting to dry and crust on his face, but he could feel the shoulder wound still oozing. "So then, tell me what you do remember. How about... The binding mark on your arm, that Bobby just burned off. What the hell, Sam?" 

* * *

"Don't remember what?" Sam asked. Dean was clearly still pissed off, but it was all Dad's fault really. Sam hadn't been allowed to ride with Dean in the Impala because, according to Dad, Dean needed 'time for himself'. It had been a punishment for Sam, obviously, for getting drunk and rebellious, but what Dad hadn't realized and refused to listen to was that Dad was also punishing Dean by not letting them ride together. Unless, of course, Dean had asked for this... Sam frowned. But no, they'd made their peace the night before they'd left for Bobby's place, hadn't they? 

It was clear that there was something he did _not_ remember. They'd arrived at Bobby's place late at night. Dad had sent Sam to bed, announcing that Dean was to stay with the adults so they could discuss the case. Sam had been annoyed at being kept outside the loop – as always – but he'd obeyed and gone to bed. It was the last thing he remembered.

So why was he sitting on Bobby's floor with a burn mark on his arm that Dean had just explained as a former binding mark, scrutinized by his host and his brother who looked as if he'd gone a round with someone way out of his league? And why wasn't Dad there?

"Not sure," he said, annoyed that his voice sounded slightly slurred. Had he helped himself to Dad's secret stash again? "Why're you looking at me? Where's Dad?"

* * *

Dean exchanged a look with Bobby. _Where's Dad?_ Could Sam somehow be pretending not to know their father was in Hell, in an attempt to excuse himself for binding himself to a demon? His question seemed honest, though. Slightly panicked. If Sam was in the dark about the past year, then there was no way Dean was going to get any answers out of him about more recent events. 

"Dad's dead, Sam." He left it at that for now. There'd be plenty of time to explain the specifics, if he had to. "For the last year. We've been hunting on our own, trying to track down Yellow-Eyes." 

Sam looked up at him, mouth slightly ajar and wide-eyed, like he was young and innocent again. Considering all he'd been up to in the past couple weeks, it was very, _very_ incongruous, so much so that Dean had to restrain himself from yelling at Sam to quit acting and explain himself. 

Turning, Dean propped himself against Bobby's big wooden desk. "You wanna know why I'm looking at you?" he fumed. "My brother has lost his mind. Takes off and kills a hunter in cold blood, holds up a convenience store for smokes – Menthols, Sammy! – steals a car, gets possessed by Meg, nearly rapes Jo... Where do I stop? Jeez, Sam." 

He narrowed his eyes. There had to be a way to figure out if Sam was lying. And... If he wasn't, then was it only a year of his life he was missing, or how much? And holy shit, he wouldn't remember about 'them' either. After the struggle and heartache they'd put themselves through, to work out their issues before becoming one, becoming lovers... 

"Before right now, what's the last thing you remember?" 

* * *

"Dad's dead, huh?" Sam still wasn't sure what was going on, but as much as he appreciated Dean's practical jokes, this was over the top, even for him. He felt immediately guilty. Hadn't he sometimes wished that Dad wasn't there, so he and Dean would get fostered and Sam might – finally! – lead a normal life?

Dean rambled on about his brother losing his mind and doing all sorts of messed-up crap. Had Dean lost his mind? Who was the brother he kept going on about, and who the hell was Yellow-Eyes? Sam knew that Dean drank more than was good for him sometimes. Dad was always worried about his sons taking drugs. Had that happened? Was Dean hallucinating under the influence of some psychogenic drug? But _where was Dad?_ Surely he couldn't be dead! And what was the significance of 'Menthols'? Who were Meg and Jo?

Sam focused on Dean's question. "The last thing I remember? Going to bed... Are you sure you're feeling alright?" he asked tentatively, looking at Bobby for support. Dean was obviously confused, but Bobby's face didn't reveal anything.

"Dean? Are you with me?"

* * *

That didn't help. If Sam really did have memory loss, going to bed could have been on any night in the last year, or even before. 

"No, I'm not with you right now. Going to bed... When? Where?" Maybe Dean should have asked with whom. "What else do you remember from that day?"

* * *

Sam frowned. Apparently, Dean had a problem. "Going to bed, when Dad sent me off so you _adults_ ," he couldn't help sneering, "could have a talk." Duh, what the hell was going on in his brother? Dean could be thick, but even for Dean this was a bit too much.

"And before, well, driving. Dad berating me about – why do you care? He said you wanted to be on your own, so you had a good day with 'Baby'," Sam almost spat. Dean could have – _should have!_ – rescued Sam from spending a day locked in Dad's truck.

"So, what, did he clout me for complaining that I want to go to school? Hit my head harder than he thought, I bet. Just like he always treats me." Sam's eyes were beginning to water with self-pity.

* * *

Dean almost didn't hear the words for the whine. It had been years since he'd heard that out of Sam. What was he on about? School? Hit him with a belt, lock him in the truck... The last time anything remotely like that had happened, they'd been... No. No way. They'd been in Nebraska; Sam and Dad had a fight. And Sam had been made to ride in the truck with Dad, while Dean followed, all the way to Bobby's place. 

And here they were. At Bobby's. Slowly Dean said, "Sam, I think... That punch split your melon a little more than usual. Dude, it's 2007. You're 24. So what do you mean, 'the adults can talk'? You _are_ an adult. Theoretically. You're taller than me. But if you keep whining like that, we might have to check if you need your Pampers changed." All of a sudden, a grin like he hadn't felt like in months cracked Dean's face. He shouldn't be joking. Sam had done all kinds of shit that had him – them – in so much trouble. And Meg was loose again, somewhere. 

Now the question was, just 'where' was Sam? 

* * *

Sam snorted. "24, sure, wish I were," he huffed. He didn't think he could get to his feet and show Dean that he was tall, but not taller than Dean. Yet. Then, Dean had mentioned a punch, so that explained at least why his head hurt and his vision was off. The pain didn't stop him from rolling his eyes at the Pampers joke. Dean hadn't cracked one of those since they'd started having sex... 

But they weren't having sex, his brain reminded him. Not any longer. Dean refused the 'real thing' because he considered Sam too young. Maybe this was a trick, some sort of game Dean had come up with in order to justify it for himself that he and Sam could, finally, fuck. It couldn't be, could it? 

No, of course not. Dean was as stubborn as Dad when it came to some things, and Sam was sure that his 'virginity' was one of those. Besides, if this was Dean's idea of how to circumvent the age issue, he wouldn't play it in the presence of Bobby. Which, once again, raised the question of where Dad was. Dean had said he was dead, but that couldn't be true, could it? 

This could actually be true, Sam thought, recognizing the concern on Dean's and Bobby's faces despite the fact that his vision was still wonky. Also, belatedly, he wondered why Dean was covered in blood and who – _what?_ – had delivered the blow to Sam's head. He'd, naturally, assumed it had been Dad, but if Dad had been killed... Maybe the yellow-eyed demon Dean had mentioned had been stronger than the 'adults' had expected and Dad was really dead? 

_And the last memory you have of Dad is fighting and hating him!_

Sam froze, but he was immediately overwhelmed by all the other things his brother had said. Killing a hunter, holding up a store, stealing a car. Surely, he couldn't have done that! Sam trembled with the beginnings of a panic attack. Focus, he told himself. Focus on what needs to be done _now._ Dean was hurt, and Dad, dead or alive, would never forgive him if Sam didn't look after his brother, even if it was supposed to be the other way round.

"Your face," he croaked. "And that... whatever you're hiding under your shirt. We need to get you cleaned up." The throbbing in his arm reminded him that there was something wrong with him, too. Finally tearing his eyes away from his brother's face, Sam started when he saw the brand on his arm again, a circle with a rugged line through it. 

"What the hell? Dean, what happened?" he stammered, and then the panic set in for real.

* * *

Sam rolled his eyes and his face moved into classic bitchface #4. It was all too obvious that Dean hadn't succeeded in jogging his memory or getting through to him. After a minute, Sam seemed to focus, staring pointedly at Dean, with the suggestion they get him cleaned up. True, he was covered in blood, but it should be the other way around. "I will if you will," Dean capitulated. 

Finally, Sam seemed ready to listen, and possibly comprehend, the events of the past few weeks. Exhaustion was settling over him – his wound, the fighting, weeks of crushing worry and little sleep. The desk was really the only thing holding him upright, right now. Dean shifted his weight. "What's going on right now is... You've been possessed by the demon Meg. She was in you till just a few minutes ago." 

Bobby added, "I tried the usual exorcism. She started to come out of you, but went right back in. That's when I saw the binding mark on your arm. Had to burn through it to release you from her hold." 

"Right," Dean picked up the thread. "That's when I hit you in the face. Since you had just beat the living tar out of me, and all." He held up his arms, wincing at the stab of pain from the shoulder wound. "Sorry, I was pissed." 

'What's going on' might encompass a lot more; he couldn't be sure. Sam was still using that sneer of a tone he'd usually reserved for John. "It's like I told you. We've been hunting on our own since Dad... died. He figured out that the yellow-eyed demon was what killed Mom and went after it, but it took him, too. Don't you remember? A possessed trucker smashed the Impala with all three of us in it... I was, well, basically dead." Dean decided to leave out the details about Tessa and reapers for now. "And Dad made a deal – my life for his." 

Bowing his head, Dean tried to control the massive guilt he felt over that. It had meant that he could continue to watch over Sam, could keep hunting the demon, and eventually it had also meant he and Sam could be together... But that had been interrupted all too soon. "Lately, you've been acting strange, like I told you. I'm guessing Yellow-Eyes is behind it. I chased you all over hell, and you'd run off again. We finally figured out it was possession and... Here we are." 

He'd just talked himself in a circle. Sam was sure to have more questions, but Dean agreed they needed their wounds tended to. They wouldn't do anyone any good, if infection set in. He walked over to his brother, watching for any subtle signals that Meg was back. Shouldn't be, but a lot of shit happened to them that shouldn't. "Think you can stand?" He held out a hand. 

* * *

"Whoa, whoa, stop, you're making my head hurt..." Sam held his hand up. If not for the blood and the pain, he'd have sworn that Dean was shitting him, but even so...

"Come on, get real. Do you really expect me to believe that? Just listen to yourself, Dean," Sam spat. "You died, Dad made a deal, Dad died, I was possessed – and who the hell is this yellow-eyed demon anyway?"

The expressions on Bobby's and Dean's faces didn't change. Okay, so Sam would immediately expect his brother to prank him, but not Bobby. And that meant... 

"Dad's really dead?" Sam asked in a small voice that seemed to confirm that he was a fourteen-year-old. He was suddenly scared out of his mind. Dean asked if he could stand, and Sam reached for his brother's hand, not only to be pulled up to his feet, but also because he feared it would vanish as soon as he touched it. 

It didn't. Dean's hand was strong and solid, and when Sam stood on slightly wobbly legs, he realized with shock that he was indeed taller than his brother. "But... This... How?" he croaked.

* * *

About to get in Sam's face about his continued disbelief when Dean was stating the bald truth, Dean decided to give him a few minutes. Whatever Sam had to process, it would take a little time. He hauled his brother up to his feet, chuckling at Sam's look of shock over his 'growth'. "Yeah, Sam. You're a sasquatch. Not a skinny kid anymore; look at yourself." 

He turned serious again, though. "I'm sorry, but yeah, Dad's gone. I wouldn't lie or joke about something like that." For a second, their eyes met, and he hoped that Sam would see he meant it. 

Dean led Sam to Bobby's kitchen and gestured for him to sit at the table. Looking around like he'd never seen the place before, Sam backed up but Dean still had to physically push him onto the wooden kitchen chair. Then he went for the first aid kit Bobby kept in the second drawer down and pulled it out. Sam was going to need burn cream and then to be bandaged, but he'd need to clean the wound first. And himself, if he wasn't going to contaminate it. 

Turning on the water, Dean splashed it on his face till it ran clean. Bending and moving his arms wasn't much fun with the shoulder wound, so he made due with mostly one hand. Then he washed his hands, using the antibacterial soap he found. Fine, it was dish soap, but he wasn't doing brain surgery. "Alright, let's get this over with." As per usual, there was a bottle of something clear with high alcohol content by the sink, which Dean grabbed. "Push up your sleeve." He turned, grabbed the kit, and approached the table. 

* * *

Sam was stunned. A part of him knew that Dean wouldn't lie to him, not on this scale, but it was still unbelievable. How on earth could ten years vanish from his memory? He'd heard of amnesia as a consequence of being hit on the head, but couldn't imagine that everything would just be gone. Apparently, reality overruled imagination.

When Dean told him to roll up his sleeve, Sam obeyed without thinking. Although he was wary of his brother who had, in his mind, betrayed him by refusing him, he knew that he could always trust Dean to look after his injuries. For a second, Sam wondered if Dean remembered what had happened on this last day Sam remembered, but the thought was cut off when Dean unceremoniously poured half a bottle of acid on Sam's arm.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, attempting to pull away, but Dean grinned at him and held his hand tight. It stung like a motherfucker, and the pain brought tears to Sam's eyes, but also an idea of how he could make up with his brother.

"Are you going to kiss it better?" Sam asked with his head cocked and what Dean used to call his 'puppy dog eyes' wide open.

* * *

 _"...kiss it better?"_ Oh, hell. Dean flicked his eyes in the direction of where he'd last seen Bobby, but the man had left them to their own devices. Of course, Sam had to combine this sing-song query with a cow-eyed, almost-but-not-quite-innocent gaze Dean hadn't seen on his brother's face in years. A sudden flash burned a recollection of buck-naked, 14-year-old Sam sprawled across the hood of the Impala in a puddle of jizz. Damn, they'd been horny little bastards. Dean felt his jeans grow too tight in the crotch. Not good. Not here and now, and especially if Sam thought he was still a teenager.

Flustered, he unfolded the first aid kit and retrieved the supplies he'd need. "I don't think that would be very sanitary," he finally pouted, very belatedly. "The mouth is the germiest part of the body. You don't want a second 'helping' of Everclear, do you?" He tilted his head at the bottle. The burn was nasty, with third-degree charring, but in a only small area. It was too bad, he mused. Well, they both had scars, but Sam had a bad one on his bicep from the shot wound last fall, and now there was this, as well. Getting ointment over it was only as difficult as keeping Sam's arm immobile as he repeatedly hissed and tried to pull away, and then Dean slapped on a bandage. 

"There, now me." Dean dropped his outer, long-sleeved shirt to the floor, and eased his good arm out of his t-shirt first. Then he pulled it over his head, and down the other arm. Since blood was already dried enough to adhere, he had to tug a little, which broke the barely-congealed scab, and he was bleeding again. "Have a look, Sam. What do you think... Stitches or just bandage? Hurry up, it stings like a bitch!" 

* * *

_Stitches or just bandage?_ Sam boggled. Dean's chest looked different from what he remembered. His pectorals were more sculpted, and the pink nipples stood out in a way that made Sam dizzy, and it had nothing to do with being hit on the head. His dick filled out, and he wanted to lean in and kiss the tiny peaks. 

A sweet and happy smile formed on Sam's face as he thought over Dean's reaction to his suggestion to 'kiss it better': his brother had explained that it was a bad idea wound-care-wise, but not refused otherwise. In particular, Sam thought that Dean's reply of _'There, now me'_ could be interpreted as a plea that Sam should kiss _him_ better now, couldn't it?

In a minute, he told himself. First, he had to decide what to do with the injury. It was a shot wound, and Sam wondered how Dean had gotten it. It looked as if someone had already taken care of it – or messed with it, Sam couldn't say. He'd only seen bullet wounds on his Dad two times, and whereas Sam was ordered to watch and learn, Dean had always been the one to treat them. He needed to know more.

"Is the bullet still in?" Sam asked. 

* * *

"No, Sam. Man, you really don't remember, huh? Jo dug it out." Dean had called her a few choice names including 'butcher' in thanks, told her he'd call her – of course he hadn't – and gone after Sam again. Well, he'd caught up to him, and none too soon, but honestly, without Bobby's knowledge and assistance today, he'd be in a lot worse shape or dead. 

And Sam, he didn't want to think about it. So far, Sam hadn't made a move. "You gonna just stare at me all day, or are you gonna help me out here?" It wasn't as if Dean hadn't tended his own wounds, he just couldn't really see what he was doing with the shot that far up his arm. "Yeah, I know... I'm edible." Dean rolled his eyes. Here he was, bloody and in pain, warmly throbbing between the legs as well as in some not-pleasant ways from their brawl earlier, flirting with his dubious-mental-status little brother. He had missed the closeness and connection. So much. If he didn't find a way to distract himself, he was going to push Sam against the nearest flat surface and... 

Dean grabbed the bottle and dumped it over his arm. Like Sam, he hissed and gritted his teeth. It alleviated the other problem, anyway. "Dude! Come on!" 

* * *

For a moment, Sam could only stare at Dean's face. His brother hissed in pain, and Sam flinched in sympathy before his mind caught up. _Joe dug it out._ "Who's Joe? And who's the bastard that shot you?" Sam burst out before he could help himself. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure he wanted to know. After all what Dean had said already, there was a chance that Sam was the shooter. And Joe... A sting of jealousy ran through Sam at the idea of somebody else taking care of Dean. Somebody Dean was acutely familiar with – a boyfriend or lover maybe?

Sam clenched his teeth. There'd be time for questions later. Dean was in pain, and the wound needed to be taken care of. If Joe, whoever he was, had taken the bullet out, the wound still looked bad. Someone must have messed with it after, and again Sam had a bad feeling about who that person may have been. He forced himself to inspect the injury closely.

"Dad said not to stitch wounds that have been open for more than a couple hours," he told Dean a little shyly. Who knew if that still held? So much could have changed in ten years. "A bandage it is. Do we have antibiotic ointment?"

Sam needed to focus on Dean's shoulder not only because his brother needed the medical aid, but also because the question of what else had changed during the past decade hit him like a punch to the nuts. His last memory of Dean was that they'd fought bitterly and never had the chance to make up after Dean had refused to have sex with Sam any longer. 

"Dean," he hesitated and licked his lips nervously. "Are we... Are we okay? You and I, I mean? As in... well, you know?"

* * *

"Jo is... Jo Harvelle. Ellen's daughter. Her father was a hunter, too." Dean spared Sam the details on that little fact. "Jo thinks she wants to be one; she's kind of in training. We actually hunted with her once, a vengeful spirit. So yeah, her. As far as who shot me, you did. Or, Meg did, while she was possessing you." Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. It wasn't like he wanted Sam to feel guilty over it, he hadn't been in control, but it was so weird that he had no recollection. 

Good, focus on the medical stuff. Dean's attention jumped back to that. "You're right about stitches, not to do it unless you're a doctor and know what you're doing with... debridement." Dean used the term Charlie had. "Learned that lesson the hard way when you got shot. I suppose you don't remember that either...?" 

Seeing in Sam's expression that he was clueless, Dean leaned forward to push Sam's sleeve up further with his good hand. The flesh and muscle of Sam's arm had healed, but the scar was ugly and still red against Sam's tanned skin. "See, look." He withdrew his hand, not intending to, but none the less brushing his fingers down Sam's ropy wrist. Though the words welled up, Dean didn't add that if Charlie hadn't been at Harvelle's that might, Sam would almost certainly be maimed or dead now. He had so royally fucked up, between his own pain from cracked ribs and a pummeled face, and their... situation, at that time. 

To avoid blurting out something unnecessary or even looking at Sam, Dean took a swallow from the bottle, grimaced, found the antibiotic ointment Sam had asked for, set it down next to his elbow, and waited for him to get started... and jerked in his chair when the soft, low voice asked another question. It was like Sam read his mind. Kind of. Hesitantly, his brother looking up from under his floppy bangs asked if they were 'okay'. Well, they had been, till the debacle of the last couple weeks. However he answered, how was Dean supposed to know for sure if he was talking to 14-year old Sam or 24-year old Sam, or what? If he was stuck back in his teen years on the day Dean kind of thought he might be, it might comfort him that they had resolved their differences... Eventually. 

"Yeah, we're fine. Just don't let another demon ride you. We'll ask Bobby to make a charm or something. You know, you had a girl inside you for like a week. Kinda kinky, Sammy." Grinning, Dean reached over to rustle Sam's hair, which he knew he hated, but oh well. Maybe it would get him going. 

* * *

Of course, Dean didn't answer the question. Ten years had told him to dodge it, and he referred to Sam being possessed instead of what Sam really wanted, needed to know. But then Dean ruffled Sam's hair, and Sam smiled. At least Dean wasn't repulsed by Sam's body. Maybe they still had a chance.

He reached for the first aid kit and frowned at his hands. They needed to be cleaned before he could get to work. Like Dean a few minutes before, Sam washed his hands with the dish soap, and only then took the antibiotic ointment. He applied a thin coat and taped a piece of gauze over the wound like Dad had taught him.

Dad. Sam still couldn't believe that their father was gone. And all the rest. Assaulting this girl Jo he'd never even met. Killing a hunter. Stealing a car and robbing a store sounded like child's play in comparison. Had he really done all that? And, worst of all, had he really shot Dean? How could a demon have so much power over him that he could hurt his beloved brother?

Feeling sick, Sam began to shake again as he looked at his brother. "Please tell me that all this is only a bad dream!"

* * *

It took a while, but at last Sam stood up and crossed the kitchen to clean his hands, and came back. Since they'd both realized Sam was still a teen inside his head, Dean kept an eye on how he handled their home-spun doctoring, but he seemed capable enough. During the process, Sam concentrated so hard his eyes went all squinty and the tip of his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth. About to razz him for it, Dean was pulled up short by his brother's plea. 

He shook his head again. "A dream? Nope, sorry, this is our lives now. We'll just have to be careful–" yeah, like that ever happened, "and try to steer clear of... your trail." Idly, staring off into space, Dean explored the borders of the bandage with his fingers, since he couldn't see it very well. Something, a tiny sound of distress, jolted him out of it: the little hitched respirations of someone on the edge of crying or screaming.

His eyes flew to Sam, who was trembling, his face red and squinched. It was probably all hitting him at once, all of the things Dean had told him about the past few weeks. And, Dad's death. If Sam was in a place where he didn't know, his grief had to be enormous. Dean remembered himself, even a week after. He'd been a walking shell of rage and self-loathing and pain, unable to function beyond feeding and dressing himself and fixing Baby. Who knew how Sam would take it. His and John's relationship had been a long road of butting heads and, Dean could see it now, John doing everything in his power, so many things he called necessary that no other father would ever do to and because of his children, to not have to put his own son down like a dog with a bullet in his head. 

"Dude! It'll be alright." Dean slid off his chair and knelt on the scuffed linoleum, right next to Sam. "Hey, c'mere, Sammy." He held up his arms. When Sam didn't move, just blinked at him, Dean pulled his larger brother against his chest. But the angle was awkward and Sam held his body stiff like he wasn't sure if he was allowed. "Sam," he repeated, mindful of how it slid from his mouth like a moan, but he couldn't help it. Needing the warmth of his lover's body, Dean pulled Sam off his seat. This wasn't even sexual, it was comfort, and Sam had always been more the physically demonstrative of the two of them. They hadn't been close in any manner of speaking since this whole episode or whatever the hell it was had started. Maybe Dean's body was making demands about that a little, but his heart and mind were set on one thing: taking care of his little brother. He hugged Sam to him, so tight – with one arm, anyway – he started to shake, too. "I'm sorry... We'll figure it out, I promise..." 

* * *

Dean's body felt different than Sam remembered. The difference was subtle, but noticeable. Of course, there was also that Sam was – suddenly? he still couldn't wrap his head around what his brother kept telling him, that ten years had gone by – three or four inches taller. Dean also looked different. His body was no longer that of a youth, but he'd filled out, in all the right places, as Sam had to admit: despite his world falling to pieces, he hadn't missed how firm and strong Dean was. The worry lines on his face told Sam that life hadn't been easy on Dean, but one thing had not changed, and that was the confidence he radiated. When Dean said that everything would be alright, that they'd figure everything out, Sam believed him.

Among the differences, Sam also recognized familiarity. Dean's scent was altogether sharper, muskier, but it was still undoubtedly _Dean._ His brother. And his lover. Or was he? Sam bit his lip. Right now, he felt safe and grounded in Dean's arms. The fact that they were still hunting together and that Dean hadn't killed him although Sam had committed all these atrocious things proved that whatever had happened after their fight ten years ago hadn't destroyed their bond. But Sam was still clueless as to so much that must have happened, not only back then, but also over the course of the past decade.

"I need to know what happened," he pressed out, still clinging to Dean. At a total loss how to proceed without pissing his brother off, who was so familiar and yet a total stranger to him, Sam tried to crack a joke. "Dude, I'm afraid this means we'll have to talk," he offered with a smile on his face that was as bright as it was fake, and it faltered immediately.

"Dean," Sam whispered, rubbing his face against his brother's chest, "the last thing I remember is fighting. You and me. Because... I needed you to give me something... Can you tell me what happened? Please?" He held his breath.

* * *

Sam continued to cling to him, drawing strength from Dean just as Dean drew strength from Sam. When he'd been small, like three or four years old, Sam had done that when he was scared. Later, in the midst of their hormone-charged teenaged affair, the long, gangly limbs Sam had possessed at the time would often be wound around his chest or waist, either as they neared another screaming, moaning climax or in the cease-fire of afterglow. This would have felt the same, only Sam was huge now, almost six-and-a-half feet, his shoulders just as wide as Dean's and not done broadening out, his ribs and chest built like a tank. NOT a teen, this man. Not on the outside, anyway. Sam's heartbeat thudded rapidly; Dean could feel the pulse through Sam's shirts. 

He asked what had happened, made some remark about _having_ to talk. Confused, Dean raised his head, about to remind his brother that he'd just given him the important points. But Sam charged on. If his last memory was of them fighting, then it came from the time Dean had cut it off between them. After that they'd been icily cordial – Sam reserved most of his more negative emotions for Dad – easing into distant politeness, sometimes more jovial. It was easier when they were hunting, almost sliding into characters not quite 'themselves'. Other than... When they saved each other's lives. Or their eyes would meet covertly over some drunken, obsessive rant of their dad's. Or, when one of them would get so needy he'd escape to the shower to jerk off, and the other always knew. 

_I needed you to give me something..._ Sam pleaded for the rest of the story. He had his head bowed down now, rubbing his face against Dean's chest. The rough stubble on his pointed chin abraded the skin between his nipples, and he flinched when the scrape caught one. It had already been erect and tingling. The edge of pain, along with Sam's proximity and the lingering scent of blood, had him half hard again. 

Shit, what if Bobby walked in on them like this? The man was no dummy, he sussed out every relevant detail about, well, basically everything, and they hadn't hidden what was between them from the gang at Harvelle's... But knowing and seeing were two different things. Insistently, Dean wove his fingers into the long strands of Sam's hair and pulled him upright again. 

"We have to keep it down," he whispered, close to Sam's ear. "You want to know if you got the deep dicking you needed. No, not then. We stopped, I made us... And I was wrong, so wrong. You went to college, Sam, Stanford. Us not being together drove you away. You were gone four years. I found you when Dad went missing. After that, we still didn't have sex, till after you'd been shot. And then, now, till this demon got her claws in you, all walls were down. We... Yeah. We owned up to what we'd always felt. Both of us."

Dean knew his face had turned pink. He didn't talk like that, other than in bed, after a couple rounds. His brother was so warm; he loved Sam, had loved him all those years ago, but how the hell was he going to reconcile those ten years? Well, he'd said this much, he might as well complete the story so far. Sam deserved to know. "We're in love, we fuck like bunnies, we kill all the bad sons of bitches we hear about." 

Up close like this, Dean was sure Sam would notice he had aged. His skin was rougher, there were more scars, he had a few lines on his face and he'd lost the wide-eyed look of the very young in the last year. Would a kid even be attracted to him now? He was a huge pervert for even considering it. It was one thing when they were both teenagers... This could get messy, if Sam was as hot for him as he'd been before Ground Zero. It was disconcerting – present-day Sam's body was pressed to his, the one that had lived through almost ten years of pain and had become his – Dean's – in so many ways. And inside his head was only the seed, the germination of that man. "Sammy...?" 

* * *

The turmoil in his mind came to a standstill when Dean held him close. Whatever had taken place during the past ten years had not changed the fact that Sam still felt safe in his big brother's arms. When Dean started to speak, Sam was immediately, painfully erect against his thigh. The reference to the 'deep dicking he needed' let a small keen escape from his mouth, but when Dean admitted that he hadn't given it to Sam back then, Sam made to pull away.

Dean held him tight and explained that he'd been wrong and that they'd made up and made things right, that they were in love and 'fucked like bunnies', and Sam thought he'd swoon. Then he heard Dean's voice, insecure and distraught, and at the same time Sam thought it was hoarse with need and desire: _Sammy...?_

"Dean!" he gasped. No question mark for Sam, he knew that what he needed now had not changed from his needs ten years ago. "I... want... Please tell me there's some place to hide here. I've waited for you so long!"

* * *

Some place to hide... They had better find somewhere private, that was for damn sure. Dean was past caring if anyone had a problem with them, but they didn't need to go subjecting others to their noisy sex. It wasn't blood loss slowing him down, unless one counted the sudden migration of the supply from upstairs brain to downstairs brain. Sam was already grinding his hard-on against Dean's thigh, his little grunts and whines reducing Dean to a mass of surging hormones. A little spurt of pre-come dampened his boxers. He moved his good hand down to Sam's ass and squeezed, nudging his knees apart to fit their groins in tighter together. Any second, Dean would give in to the rising tide of loss-need-love-want and do something really stupid like fuck his brother right there in the middle of Bobby's kitchen floor. Head spinning, he tried to think of somewhere they could be alone... The cellar, the junkyard, the shower... or maybe they should just go for a drive, and give Baby's back seat a workout. 

"Want you under me... Missed this so much!" Dean gasped for breath, realizing something. "Shit, Sammy! Maybe not your body, but this'll be like... your first time." Lips just brushing Sam's long neck, he was still whisper-rasping, hoarse and ragged. His dick filled to painful rigidity. "Oh god, we have to stop or I'm gonna cum in my pants." They hadn't even kissed yet. "Wanna do you right, baby, show you how much I love you, let you show me – everything. Let's get out of here..." 

* * *

_...we have to stop or I'm gonna cum in my pants._ If that statement wouldn't already have brought Sam to full staff, Dean's lips on his neck would have. As it was, Sam knew exactly what Dean meant. Although he reminded himself that he now had an adult body, it reacted very much like the fourteen-year-old he remembered, by frantically rubbing against Dean's thigh and moaning. 

Sam's dick spurted wetness at every word Dean said, but when Dean promised to 'do him right', Sam thought it was over. He stilled with an effort he couldn't believe he'd mustered, as his balls pumped out fluid in a mini-orgasm. It wasn't the real thing yet or Sam knew he'd have been screaming and writhing, but it was close. And strange, but the feeling was incredible, and Sam didn't question it. If it was any indication of what was to come...

"Yes, yes," he whispered breathlessly. "Let's hurry up already. You lead the way."

* * *

Dean still didn't have a plan thanks to his pheromone-addled excuse of a brain... he'd just have to improvise. Peeling himself away from Sam, he clambered to his feet. Without a mirror, he couldn't see himself, but he knew he was flashing-eyed feral, lip curled and nostrils flared. A glance down revealed the unmistakable bulk of his erection behind his zipper – there was no hiding _that_. Sam was in a similar state, sweat beaded on his forehead and the state of his pants even worse, with a dark spot forming already. 

"Bobby, we're going outside," Dean called into the silence of the house. "We have some things to discuss... You won't wanna hear this." If he'd played it right, Bobby might think they had 'Winchester family business', or that they'd argue and fight some more, and leave them to it. Since he'd broken Meg's link, Sam wasn't in any more danger than usual. 

"C'mon!" He hissed at Sam again, dragging him outside by the wrist. They walked quickly through rows of rusted out old trucks, a '55 Bel Air Bobby had always wanted to fix up, his current rust-bucket, junk and more junk. Outside the house, the air smelled of dirt and iron, new spring grass and last year's mouldering leaves. The Impala was just ahead. "We both stink to high heaven and your Sasquatch body barely fits as it is... so we can do it in there, like this, or we can get to that no-tell motel on the outskirts of town." 

They'd reached the car. Dean laid his arm on the roof and turned to look up at Sam. His balls were full to bursting, and so was his heart, to have his brother back after such a close call. "I want you to lay with me, love me till the sun goes down. Get that ass in this car... let's get away for a while, just us. Ten minutes down the road, alright?" The familiar silver bullet keychain was warm in his front pocket. Dean wrestled it out, opened the door and got in, and Baby roared to life. The other door opened and slammed. Across the front seat, the heated look in Sam's slanted eyes told Dean he was seconds from being jumped, so he floored it. 

* * *

"The... the Impala," Sam stammered. "The hood... you and I christening her..." The dizziness he felt now had nothing to do with having hit his head. Another memory rose, Dean laying himself out on the hood, offering his body in a fit of rage and hatred, but Sam quickly pushed it aside. That fight was over, and Dean was going to give Sam what he needed. Had, in fact, been doing so for some time, of which Sam had no memory, but as Dean had said, it would be their first time again.

Ten minutes sounded like an eternity. Sam couldn't stop squirming in his seat. Dean looked so _edible!_ Sam wanted his hands and his mouth all over his brother, wanted to make him scream with need and pleasure – and Dean would let him. And then, Dean would _take_ Sam, invade and claim his body, make Sam Dean's...

The thought was almost too much. Keening softly, Sam grabbed his balls and squeezed tightly. The pain brought tears to his eyes but prevented him from spilling immediately.

"Are we nearly there?" he pressed out, desperation clearly evident in his voice.

* * *

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw movement and glanced over in time to catch Sam grabbing his junk through his clothes and squeezing cruelly. If he really was fourteen in his head, it was a wonder that he hadn't spilled already – Dean was twice that age and look at how worked up he was! Sam's hands, like the rest of him, were incredibly strong. In minutes, they'd be all over Dean's naked body, sensitive and possessive at the same time. And those balls, just as impressive as they appeared through the bunched-up denim, would be on display and then releasing the proof of Sam's love, just for him. 

"Oh fuck, the Impala..." Dean echoed. They'd fooled around in it, messing up the hood and the back seat with multiple loads. That remained one of the best and worst days of his life. He focused on the 'best' aspect. "You remembering... What we did in and on and all over it...? And that's yesterday for you?" Swallowing hard to contain both a mouthful of drool and a sudden lump in his throat, Dean went on, "Shoulda just fucked you. Made love to you. But I will..." 

While Sam didn't remember the intervening years right now, he probably would later. When they'd been in the process of finally tearing down those walls and getting together, Sam had insisted over and over that sex and love went together for him, period. Of course it did, because Dean had trained him that way. Always as teens, they reaffirmed how they loved each other, sometimes, especially as it went on, as they made each other cream. He'd just been too stupid to see it, or apply the same to himself. But that was in the past – for him.

"Only another five now," Dean panted. "Then we're gonna wash this flop sweat off ourselves. And... well, you know." Only, sure, like a million years. He didn't dare touch Sam for all he was within arm's length, desperation rolling off him in waves. Dean decided he'd better can it with the dirty talk, too, for their own good.

"Uh. Sam, I forgot my shirt." Ruefully, he gestured at his half-dressed body which featured a bloody torso, fresh bandage, erect nipples and more than obvious boner. They'd gone from treating each other's wounds to being stuck together on the floor; then they'd fled, and he'd forgotten to grab a shirt. Not a huge deal, being male, but he couldn't go into the motel office shirtless and expect to be served. Well, that and hard. "You're gonna have to get the room. You got money, or a credit card?" The long, drab building with its evenly spaced doors was already visible, and Dean slowed the car. 

* * *

"Umm..." Sam wiggled around in the passenger seat so he could check his back pockets. Nothing. "Sorry," he said. "No cards, no cash. But I have a tee under my shirt," he perked up. "You could wear either of them, now that I'm larger than you," he grinned. "That is, unless these have cut holes in the fabric," Sam smirked as he smoothed down the shirts over his chest to display his pointed nipples. The tiny peaks had contracted so much that every swerve of the Impala was almost painful.

Sam couldn't stop grinning. Yes, he had to keep the agonizingly tight grip on his balls to prevent himself from spilling, but it was worth the pain to see the expression on his brother's face. Dean had both hands on the steering wheel – the love for his 'baby' hadn't changed over the years – and thus couldn't clamp down on his erection. Sam loved what the dirty talk did to Dean. 

"Another five, you say, until we'll wash the flop sweat off ourselves?" he asked innocently. "Are you sure you mean that? Looks to me more like, five until we wash gallons of jizz off ourselves. Remember 'yesterday', bro. Gallons of jizz on the hood, and more on the back seat!"

* * *

Dean groaned, low in his throat. Wiggling on the seat, he tried to find any spare room in his pants, but there was none. Another little blurt of precum tickled his slit on its way out, making his boxers sticky. He'd been trying to spare them, or save them, and here Sammy was teasing, pointing out his hard little nipples, which poked up, visible through two layers of shirts. Dean took a quick look and swallowed another flood of saliva, but had to keep his eyes on the road. 

"Give me the outside one, it's longer." Time for a little payback. "I'm gonna need every spare inch... Just like you." Dean reached down and grabbed his cock, hissing at the touch. "You need every inch of it, don't you?" They were in front of the office, so Dean pulled up and put the car in Park. "Hurry up with the shirt!" 

* * *

"Gods," Sam cursed. "Every inch of it? Looking at you, I'd say every _foot_ of it!" Seeing Dean salivating, Sam noticed that he was drooling himself, from his mouth as well as in his pants.

He quickly shrugged out of his shirt. "Hurry up, will ya?" Sam almost begged, not sure how much longer he could hold on.

* * *

Snorting at his impatient brother, Dean threw the shirt on and worked the buttons with not-very steady fingers. His skin seemed too tight all over, too hot. He needed Sam's hands on it, was all he knew. "It's not _that_ big... Although right now, it's at maximum size. And density. How's that monster of yours? OK, I know what it feels like on my leg but..." 

Dean flashed a grin and got out of the car door, trying to make sure he was decently covered but he had his doubts about that. A few minutes later he was back with the room key, motioning for Sam to follow. It was only four doors down, so he didn't bother to move the car. And now, Sam crowding in behind him, he was overwhelmed with deja vu of their actual first time, the day they'd took off from Harvelle's. His dick was throbbing so hard, his balls so tight with need, he could barely see or think. 

The door finally opened and Dean rushed inside, Sam practically glued to him, and slammed it shut behind them. "Shower, now!" he barked urgently, and threw Sam's shirt off. His boots were next, and he unzipped his jeans with a little sigh of some relief but by no means all. He got the water running, but then turned Sam to see him in a similar half-dressed state, and he couldn't keep his hands off a second longer. 

Pressing his brother to the wall, Dean looked up. "Love you, Sammy..." There was none of that darkness or vacant-room look of the last few weeks in the hazel eyes, only eagerness and love and heat. Sam's hipbones fit his hands perfectly, and as appealing as their razor-cut planes were, Dean needed something else. He pushed Sam's pants and boxers down, taking care not to catch the upright shaft below on the waistband, and wrapped his hand around Sam's cock. Raising up on his toes, he brought his lips down over Sam's, groaning into the space where their mouths met and kissed him, _finally_. 


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow, they made it to the room, but not – yet – into the shower, although they both needed one. Still, even though they stank of old and fresh sweat and blood, Sam breathed in what he perceived as delicious scent because it was he and Dean, finally together.

"Nuughh..." Sam groaned into Dean's mouth when Dean kissed him. He fought hard to not thrust into his brother's hand because that would have put an end to what they'd planned, but he was so close... Almost shy, Sam let Dean take the lead in the kiss, moaning as the pleasure flooded through him from the tips of his hairs to his toes.

"Dean," he gasped when they broke the kiss for a second, "I need you in me, but I want it to be on a bed so I can see your face when you..." Sam clenched his hands into fists to keep the suddenly threatening flood from his balls from rising. "How are we gonna make it through the shower without exploding first?"

* * *

Nothing could ever take the place of this. Dean moaned again, exploring the inside of Sam's mouth a little, sucking the silky lower lip. In the circle of his fist, Sam's hot, swollen length surged and throbbed like he was close, and considering how he'd been more or less voluntarily racking himself in the car, Dean was careful not to move just yet. 

The second they came up for air, Sam exclaimed that he didn't know how he'd ever make it to the bed. Dean took a step back and held his hands up in the international sign of surrender. "We'd better shower separately, then," he grinned with some regret. 

Looking into Sam's dazed eyes, Dean slid his jeans off, stepped out of them and stood, shivering under the intensity of Sam's inspection. It felt like every outside surface of his body was erect, not only the highly noticeable red-flushed dick that curved up against his belly and the diamond-hard points tipping his pecs, but his arms and legs, his back, hell, even his toes ached for Sam's touch. But if he dwelled on it, he'd be the next man in danger of coming off too soon.

After a few seconds, Dean turned around, fiddling with the tap to adjust the water temperature. Sam's eyes on his backside felt like hands, making him clench and gasp. He grabbed the small bar of motel soap and unwrapped it, stepping into the shower. "It's barely warm," he told Sam, getting in. "Wash quickly and nothing more." Careful of the bandage on his shoulder, Dean let the tepid water run over him. Even that was almost too much stimulation – he seriously considered drowning his dick in ice water – washing his crotch had been another 'close to the edge' adventure. 

It took him less than ninety seconds to clean himself back, front, and undercarriage, and he wondered what Sam was doing, for he was quiet. "Sammy, can you hand me a towel?" Dean asked, reaching for the edge of the shower curtain. His gut did a little dive right then, because he hadn't quite closed the curtain all the way and Sam, now naked, leaning against the wall and practically wheezing, had been watching the whole production. His eyes weren't demon-black but they were like bottomless pits. 

If Dean had done that on purpose, it had been subconsciously – he never meant to tease that badly. Nor had he put on a show with his washing, it had been quick and utilitarian as their dad had taught them when they were small, but in Sam's position, it would have been erotic torture for him to see his brother with his hands so intimate upon his own body, too. Hadn't he spent too many years imagining the same, just waiting for Sam to get done in the shower so he could go jerk off in the place he knew Sam just had? 

Dean hadn't done that today, had no intention of it. He retrieved a towel on his own, since Sam seemed to be frozen, and wrapped it low around his waist. "Shit, Sam... You'd better make it cold!" With that, Dean hightailed it to the other room. A man could only take so much, and Sam was a man-child on the inside. Drying off, Dean considered, as he had ten years before, if what they were about to do what they were about to do was a good idea. He had some reservations, because he didn't know what secrets might be hiding in Sam's lost memory, but otherwise, he could now give his brother what he'd denied him before. And the thought of it, the ongoing fantasy of sinking into his little brother's lithe body, was going to come true.

* * *

Sam was in heaven. The past few days had been hell: the prospect of never again sharing his body with Dean was among the worst three things he could imagine, number one being Dean dying. He felt guilty for not mourning Dad right now, but there was only so much his brain could absorb, and finding out about Dad's death, followed by the atrocities Sam had apparently committed under a demon's influence, his mind chose to drown Sam in the closeness to Dean. Nothing else mattered any more.

Only when Dean asked him for a towel did Sam realize how he'd been staring at his brother, watching him wash, with Dean's strong hands roaming all over his firm body, his dick as erect as his nipples, and his face flushed with desire. Even the bowlegs Dean had once admitted to not being very proud of struck Sam as erotic. 

"Um, here you are," he reacted belatedly, grabbing a towel off the rack, and unable to tear his eyes away from his brother, groaning with regret when Dean wrapped the towel around his waist, hiding his erection. "Uh, yeah, I guess you're right," he swallowed. "I'll make it a cold – and quick – one."

The freezing water did nothing to dampen his need, and when Sam stepped out of the shower, breaking every speed record of the Winchester family, he feared that even rubbing his crack dry would be enough to bring him off. He gave his balls another painful pinch, but despite the flaring agony, he was back on the edge only a few seconds later. Twenty-four or not, he definitely felt like a teenager, although he clearly saw that his body had changed compared to what he remembered.

"Dean..." he moaned when he saw his brother laid out on the bed before him. "Please tell me you have everything we need for this."

* * *

_Please tell me you have everything we need..._ "Oh, shit! Yeah, I've got supplies." Dean jumped up and hurried to the bathroom again, where he'd left his jeans, and retrieved his wallet and the tiny tube of lube he always carried. He had only one condom in there, but there were also more stashed under Baby's front seat. They'd never had to use them before. Dean played safe, Sam hadn't played with anyone but Jess to his knowledge, up until they came together, and they'd been exclusive. In the past week, however, Sam's – no, Meg's – spree had included just about every other kind of 'sin' and Dean wouldn't risk it. 

He returned to the room with the necessary items in hand and crawled back onto the bed. "All set," he reported once he knew Sam had seen the packet and lube. "Now get over here before my balls turn any bluer." Patting the mattress, he smiled up at Sam, who was red in the face, suddenly looking really young and almost shy. "Look, I understand this is weird for you... We won't do anything unless you want it, okay, Sammy?" 

Dean's protective instincts flared, which in turn fueled his lust. More pre-come dribbled from his slit, and he shoved his hand between his legs, yanking his sac down at the base. "I... I can't..." Throat catching, he swallowed. He could too, wait. He was Dean-fucking-Winchester, and he would not prematurely ejaculate! Never in his life had he had better sex than with Sam, plus he loved his brother, and if he'd learned anything from Sam it was how the two _did_ go together. Maybe Sam couldn't remember the rocky road they'd had in getting there, but he could well benefit from it. 

Holding out his hand, Dean let all that and the clear invitation shine in his eyes. Deliberately this time, he parted his lips and licked them. "You're in good hands," was all he could think of to say. 

* * *

Thinking he'd faint at the sight of Dean displaying the lube and condom, Sam moaned deeply. They were really going to do it! He'd been nagging Dean for almost two years before Dean had finally refused to have anything sexual between them, but now Dean was about to bury himself in Sam's body. Sam's breathing hitched and his dick spurted another string of pre-come. How was he going to last until Dean had sheathed himself in Sam?

"Dean," he gasped, "you'd better hurry before... I'm gonna cum..." Sam licked his lips and met his brother's eyes. "I need you so much!"

* * *

"Need you, too, baby," Dean purred. Sam seemed to be afraid to move. Smirking, Dean got up again and slid around to the back of Sam, rubbing his boner against the back of his thigh. Damn, that felt good; he knew he was leaving little blurts of slick in the hairs. Sam shuddered, and Dean slid his arms around his brother from behind. He hooked his chin over Sam's shoulder; their upper bodies came into contact. 

"You can bend over now," Dean murmured into the longish strands of hair behind Sam's ear. With a practiced move, he jostled one knee between Sam's longer legs, till he shifted his feet apart. At the same time, Dean ran his right hand up the center line of the tense, muscled abs, up his chest till he found one of the upright nubs sitting like tight little flesh-toned rocks. "Mmm, nice... If you wanna see my face, though, you're gonna have to be on your back," he kissed the side of Sam's neck, "or you could ride me..." 

* * *

"I want all of that," Sam gasped urgently. "But the first time I want to see your face. Want to see you when you lose it in me." He wanted to roll on his back like his brother had suggested, but Dean's knee between Sam's thighs, the hand rolling his nipple, the wetness on the back of his thigh... Sam wasn't ready to give up the contact.

"Dunno what I want really," he admitted, "as long as it's you. On me, over me, in me, everywhere." Sam swallowed. "I... we've waited so long for this. Am I weird for wanting to draw it out forever, now that we're finally about to be together?"

* * *

"Not weird all... me, too," Dean whispered. "Want that, too, to lose it in you, so deep inside you." Sam had plenty to say, but he still didn't make any move to get in bed. When they'd been young, at the beginning of it all, it had been like that. Any steps of a physical nature, Dean had had to initiate. It had taken Sam a few months to reach out first, although he was never reticent in voicing his needs, after the first few times. 

Kissing the back of Sam's neck, Dean dragged his lips downward from there, leaving a trail of kisses and licks meandering down over the landscape of Sam's shoulder blade. He kept one arm, that with the wound, wrapped loosely around Sam's midsection. To move it hurt some, but he couldn't be bothered, as his fingertips tingled as they messed with Sam's navel and fluffed the line of hair below. From his vantage point, Dean saw every shift and tense of muscle that preceded him down Sam's back, and he deliberately followed the signals of his brother's body. At the small of his back, just at the delicious inner curve, Dean, now crouching, licked the dip of Sam's spine till he arched. Just below that, the two dimples on either side, which he slurped messily into. Sam tasted of saltwater and skin, the flesh so tight and warm under Dean's unstoppable tongue.

Maybe it was abrupt, but god, he needed this! Grasping one of Sam's cheeks in each of his hands, Dean pulled them apart. Sam was so tense he was shaking, even now, and Dean was beginning to wonder if he was scared. Back then, Sam had always loudly insisted he wanted it, wanted to be fucked. Maybe it was in knowing Dean would refuse him that, which made him so confident. Now he was about to have that, and his words still said yes, but his body, despite the rock-hard dick jutting up, was going to need more play. God, it was going to kill him! Dean blew a stream of air against the exposed hole, which clenched and twitched. Someday soon, as soon as he could, he'd do what his actions suggested and lick that tiny pucker open; for today, he'd be safe and use only his hands there. Standing, Dean pushed his knee into the back of Sam's locked one, guiding him up onto the bed in lieu of falling over. "'S good, Sammy." 

With those long limbs sprawled every-which-way, it was a job in itself to get Sam onto his back and up to where he wasn't half dangling off the edge of the bed. Grabbing the lube and condom, Dean crawled on top of him, unable to stop the roll of his hips as they came into contact. "Look at me, Sam..." His brother's eyes focused on him, blown and wild. "Love you so much..." Sam's lips looked so soft, pink and swollen, Dean had to kiss them again, this time thrusting his tongue deep. One slow coiling grind of his pelvis at a time, he worked their erections into contact, slid his thigh between Sam's, got his body into that space a little at a time. 

His cock sent 'hurry up' warnings, which Dean ignored. He just kept kissing Sam, grinding against him, fumbling the lid off the lube. Dean wished he could touch Sam's dick right now, but he knew it would set off Sam's release and he'd repeated he didn't want that till Dean was in him. It was so tempting – Sam big and uncut and leaking like he was, tip purple and shiny with the ballsac below pulled up tight, and beyond that... Dean coated his first two fingers in a thick layer of slick and shifted aside just enough. "Touching you now," he moaned. Sam jumped or flinched as Dean fitted his fingertip over the opening and slid it inside. 

So hot! Dean gasped, his slit spitting out a dangerous amount of fluid, which dripped onto Sam's own dick. Under him, Sam groaned, pushing against his hand. "Want more?" Dean panted. His eyes were watering in the effort of holding back. Twisting his hand, he found Sam's sweet spot up inside and tapped it twice. "Please say you want it..." 

* * *

At first, Sam stood frozen when Dean started making love to him, torn between begging his brother to hurry and wanting to slow down, make it last forever. But as soon as he felt the soft tongue and lips placing butterfly kisses and tiny nips all over his body, he was trembling with need. Then, Dean put his hands on Sam's butt cheeks and carefully exposed his hole. Moaning and shivering when Dean blew on the needy pucker, he couldn't wait to have Dean fill him with his love.

Dean got them on the bed, somehow, and eventually Sam found himself lying on his back, but he had no idea how they'd gotten there; his brain was short-circuited with pleasure. Dean was on top of him, kissing him deeply, fucking his mouth with his tongue, and Sam thought he'd pass out. It was so good! And in a few seconds or minutes that already felt like eternity to him, Dean would claim the rest of his body as well.

Sam was writhing on the bed, and Dean sounded as aroused as he was. However, his brother had retained at least some of his senses as he mercifully avoided Sam's dick, but it didn't stop Dean from rubbing his own hardness against Sam.

_Touching you now..._ Sam stilled on the bed, held his breath, dizzy with want and anticipation, and then he arched his back, moaned loudly when two slick fingers slid inside him. It hurt, which surprised him, he'd had two fingers up there before, but the slight soreness fled from his mind when Dean touched _the spot._

"Want more," he gasped, then howled when Dean grazed it again and white hot pleasure flooded through him. His toenails curled as he whimpered, "Please, please, Dean! Need you! Pleeeease!"

* * *

The strained, hoarse begging went straight to Dean's balls, and he had to pull at them, from where they were trying to suck up into his body. "Sammy..." he returned, holding himself still till the impending orgasm was at bay. 

When Dean had entered him with two fingers, Sam had winced. He'd never had trouble with that before. Was he sore? Because Sam couldn't remember anyway, Dean didn't ask what caused it. As soon as his prostate was touched, though, he turned into a gibbering, writhing mess. 

Dean grinned. He'd just need to be more careful. If Sam needed more stretching and prep – if he could handle it – then by the time Dean was done, there'd be so much lube everywhere he couldn't be able to hold on to the condom, so Dean picked up the packet, tore it open, and lifted up. His dark-red cock looked as tortured as it felt, all the little veins standing up and the whole length steel-hard. He didn't really want to stop touching Sam, but it only took a minute to roll the nearly transparent sheath over himself and coat it with more lube. 

"Now, you tell me if there's anything that hurts, or if you want me to stop. No means no." As adults, this was the standard between them, but Dean wanted to make sure Sam understood he didn't have to do anything he wasn't comfortable with, didn't have to pretend anything was okay that wasn't. Sam just blinked his slitted eyes, lips in a slight snarl, so Dean picked up where he'd been before, with two fingers. He entered more slowly this time, stroked the little gland inside till Sam was more relaxed, begging for more again. Slipping in his ring finger, he began to stretch the muscles, little by little, so minutely. Sam groaned and carried on, sweat dripped from his temples and shone on his chest, his narrow hips wanting to buck but Dean held him in place. 

He couldn't wait any longer. Really couldn't this time. Rising up over his brother, Dean looked down, ready to burst from what he felt alone, the love and desire he had for this man. He lined himself up, the tip of his dick now at Sam's slick hole. It wasn't like bare but he could still feel the heat, sense the tightness. "Here it is, Sam, my cock, my love..." 

Gritting his teeth, Dean nudged forward just a little. "Oh god, oh god oh..." At the first sign of resistance, he stopped pushing, rocking in and out in tiny, tiny thrusts. "You say when, Sammy. Need you so bad... Only when you're ready, gonna break you in slowly, 'kay?" It was killing him; Dean just want to take and thrust and bite and reclaim, but no, this is what he should have done, and how he should've done it a decade ago. He owed Sam that.

* * *

Sam was reduced to whimpering and begging. His body felt boneless and his head was mush because every single drop of blood had found a place in his dick, his balls, the throbbing rim of his hole. Dean's fingers pulled away, and Sam whined in protest until he watched with tearing eyes how his brother rolled a condom on. 

Dean was bigger than Sam remembered, bigger than anything he'd ever had inside his body, and he swallowed a little nervously. As if Dean had read his mind, he emphasized that he'd stop as soon as Sam told him to. Sam's eyes moistened even more, and then he blinked. How his brother cared for him! "I love you," he pressed out when the formerly invading two fingers returned inside him as tender bringers of bliss. 

Slowly, Sam relaxed so that Dean slid a third finger in. Again, it hurt, but not for long, his brother made sure to stroke him in all the right places, and soon Sam was thrashing his head, bucking his hips, and begging for Dean, for more of him.

And then Dean stilled. Love shone from his eyes and radiated from his whole body as he positioned himself over Sam and lined his erection up. Sam could feel the hot tip nudge his hole. His breathing hitched when Dean pressed forward, ever so gently. Dean's eyes rolled back in his head and he whispered soft curses, but stopped immediately when Sam tensed, reducing the pressure to a tiny rocking motion that drove Sam wild.

"Do it," he gasped. "Go slow, but go." He put his hands on Dean's butt and pulled him closer. "Need you now. Love you. Gods, I love you, Dean!"

* * *

Dean groaned when Sam grabbed his ass with both hands – the long, long fingers splayed around and squeezed, pulled at him. Not having lost his ability to give direction in bed, Sam thrashed his head on the pillow and told him to go in slow. "Nnnnnngg, Sammmeeeee," Dean keened, locking eyes with his brother, his lover; Sam's shone with emotion and unshed tears. 

The next few seconds spanned an eternity. Dean pushed in, sliding in lube and clasped in the powerful grip of the outer ring and internal muscles, all rippling around his dick as he sank himself further and further. "Yes... Oh fuck yes..." His lower body was on fire with pleasure, needed to move, had to. Dean spread his thighs wide on the bedspread forcing Sam's up around him, dug in his toes, and let loose. 

At first he was still careful, in case there were any signs of undue pain or general freaked-outed-ness, but Sam accepted him into his body little by little, deeper and deeper, till Dean was in to the base with his heavy balls resting on Sam's ass. Sam cried out his love, and Dean covered his mouth with his own, tongue matching the rhythm that gathered speed below. Everything dissolved into the rocking motion, sliding, grinding hips into a frenzy that he flailed at with every arch and thrust.

What a relief to be able to just let go and give in to his – their – body's demands. The sex, once he was in and had completed the first few experimental lunges, wasn't gentle, nor was it going to last long – they were both too needy. Trapped between them, Sam's cock felt like a wet iron rod, alive with blood and cum – he was so loud now, grunting every time Dean slammed home. No way could Dean stop; white noise filled his head, that and the repetition of his brother's name and 'take it' and 'so good'.

"Close...!" Dean warned. He drove relentlessly, his orgasm gathering already in the backs of his thighs and in his balls. It hurt, how much he needed it, how the release was going to wreck him, how huge it would be, if he could just get from one side of the line to the other. He shifted around a little with every thrust, trying to rub Sam's prostate with his dick, and finally he seemed to find it when Sam howled to raise the roof. 

"Uh.... Uh... this is it," he panted, on the flimsy, teetering cusp of the edge. "Cum with me, Sammy, please!" One more thrust and he was there, the utter relief of it exploding inside and out as he shot and shot, filling the condom and ramming in as far as he could go. It seemed important that Sam see him, see it in his face, if he wanted. "Love you...! Love you so much, baby," Dean moaned, sliding his arms under his brother's larger body and holding him tight through a few final thrusts. 

* * *

It hurt, but Sam had known it would, and he allowed himself to feel the pain because it was Dean giving it to him, and it was their first time. Yes, they'd done this before, but Sam couldn't remember any of it, which meant it didn't count.

Sam drank in the expression on his brother's face as Dean slowly drove deeper until his balls slapped against Sam's ass cheeks. When Dean started thrusting, Sam loved how he was infinitely careful, but began to lose it more and more. Sam relaxed and soon all he felt was pleasure, no more pain at all. 

The friction on his dick, trapped between their bodies and wet with his juices made him crazy with lust, and yet, he fought to hold back because there was still this incredible spot deep inside him, and he couldn't wait for Dean to graze it with his cock.

Every time Dean slammed in, Sam groaned and grunted, and rolled his hips, partly in answer to Dean's thrusts, and partly because it simply felt so good. Then Dean shifted his position – and Sam screamed as his balls turned inside out. The intensity of his climax drew all thoughts away from his mind. At the fringe of his consciousness, he was about to laugh about Dean telling him to cum when he was there already, but then Dean hit his gland again at the same time he went over the edge himself, and for a long time, there was only Sam's dick spurting and spurting, and Dean pulsing deep inside him.

"I love you, god, I love you," Sam moaned, about as – in- – coherent as Dean, who, too rambled on how much he loved Sam. With a final effort, Sam held on tight to his brother and wished he'd never again have to let go of the body of the man he loved more than anything in the world.

* * *

Breathing heavily, Dean collapsed onto Sam. He was killing his arms, but he didn't care. Their hearts thudded wildly, and slowed little by little. "Mmmmmm," he breathed. He could have stayed like that for hours, although at some point, Dean had the presence of mind to pull out, holding on to the condom, and peel it off himself. Raising his head, he looked down into Sam's face, studying it. His eyes were closed, mouth slack with lips swollen and pink, high spots of color on his cheeks... 

It wasn't the same as their real first time – either of them – for Dean, but it had been more than good, sex-wise, and he'd needed this reconnection to Sam like he needed to breathe. After a hunt, the more dangerous it had been, the closer he or Sam had come to being ganked, the more he needed the release. Sometimes they indulged in foreplay for hours – this time had been so fast and physical. "Sam?" Dean started, voice low. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you...?" Experience told him the male body could endure a high degree of pain and still climax, and sometimes a little twinge of it actually made the pleasure more intense... 

Speaking of, his little brother screaming his orgasm like that... God, he was so fucking responsive! Thinking about it shot a little needle of heat into his groin, producing only a twitch. They were sticky and sweaty now, and he reveled in it. Dean wiggled up and brought his lips across Sam's, sucking, nipping the lower lip. 

* * *

Too blissed out to move, Sam gave little mewl when Dean pulled out. With his brother's weight on him, he was restrained from moving, and it felt good, safe. Dean was always watching out for him, and, of course, now he asked if Sam was okay.

A quick inventory told Sam that he was a little sore, but he felt even proud of it, that Dean was so well equipped. He was going to wear the soreness happily because it would remind him of this, their first time.

"I'm good," Sam smiled, still a little out of it. "In fact, I've never been better," he beamed. 

Dean kissed him and Sam kissed back, boneless after the intense climax, he was more than ready for a long making-out session, now that the urge was gone. Or... not gone, but tempered, as his dick reminded him with a light twitch.

Sam returned the kiss languidly, feeling Dean's plump lips with his, licking the corners of his mouth and playing with Dean's tongue tip.

This was heaven!

* * *

Sam was still a moment or two, like he was sending his awareness through his body. The verdict that he was fine, more than fine, came with a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin. Now in the afterglow, Dean wanted to melt into his brother's body, into his flesh and bones. The adult Sam was an aggressive kisser; this version was content to let Dean have his way in the form of sliding his lips across the thinner, more malleable ones, playing with his tongue. 

When his arms started to go numb, Dean pulled them out from under Sam's back. With his good hand, he stroked the sweat-matted curls behind Sam's ear, pausing to suck the lobe. Every little sound tickled his brain – he would do anything to give Sam what he needed. 

Though neither of them was ready to go again, Dean found he was slowly, subtly grinding his lower body, the pull of the muscles from group to group and the rub of skin against bare skin a slow burn. He spoke softly, mouth right over Sam's, but not quite touching. "So yesterday for you... we got busy all over the car, huh?" A lot of things had gone down on that landmark day, most of which would give Dean a headache to think about, so he pushed all the bad shit aside. "Made a sticky mess, rolled you in it... Kind of like what's between us right now, thanks to you... _you know how you are_." For years, those words had rolled around in Dean's head. "Love that about you... Now that you're full grown, you shoot even more." 

He laid another deep kiss on Sam's mouth, only speaking again when they had to come up for air. "Is it weird, having this body now? Does it feel different for you? 'Cuz Sammy, you got big..." _All over._

Slithering downwards, Dean lapped a trail down Sam's neck to the hollow of his throat and the pulse point there. He kept going, across the flat, hard sternum, and then he took a sharp right over the meatier pectoral till he reached the puckered flesh of Sam's nipple. Sticking out his tongue, Dean lolled his head to the side against Sam's chest, looking up at him while he poked at the bud, flicked it. When Sam surged beneath him, Dean sucked down hard. Being brothers or well-matched lovers or whatever, Dean could feel the echo of what he was doing to Sam in his own nipple and yep, he was getting hard again.

* * *

Eventually, they moved. Dean pulled his arm out from under Sam, and Sam could breathe easier with Dean only weighing down on his lower body. Sam lay there with a smile on his lips, thinking about complaining when Dean stopped kissing him and stiffening when the kiss went from his mouth to his earlobe, but Dean must have remembered that Sam didn't like having his ears played with. Or maybe that had changed over the years? 

Dean's face returned and hovered above Sam's, so close that Sam had difficulties focusing, and he reminded Sam of the day the Impala had become his, the trip they'd taken, the incredible sex they'd had. Then, Dean remarked how Sam had grown, and asked if he felt any different from the body he remembered while he continued kissing and licking down Sam's neck, to his chest, where he flicked his tongue at a nipple, and Sam gasped.

Trying to think how he felt in this body, only one thing came to his mind. "It feels fantastic as long as I'm with you!" Sam told his brother with enthusiasm. However, the memory of the last days he remembered also brought back the pain of Dean refusing him. "And..." he swallowed, not sure how to say this without hurting Dean, " _because_ you're with me. Dean... it's been ten years for you, but... it's only a couple of days for me since you didn't want me. I know that's changed, but I might need a moment to wrap my head around it."

He looked into Dean's green eyes that had darkened with emotion. "I'm kinda scared that I'll wake up in a minute and be fourteen again and without you."

* * *

Sam wanted to talk. Well, that was to be expected. Dean rolled off onto his good side – without the shot wound – and pulled Sam to face him. "It's not a dream. Probably hard to believe, for you. Your memories... they should come back. It's... it was a long road, Sam, from when I cut it off, till we... found each other again." 

Sam studied him intently, looking like he'd cut in at any second. It was a little unnerving. He'd forgotten the hero-worship and unabashed pure love that Sam sometimes wore on his face when they were alone, as teens. Even though it was sore and stiff, Dean draped the other arm around Sam, sliding closer. "One thing I do know. I'll never, _ever_ tell you I don't want to be with you again. I will not give you up. If you ever want to end it, you'll have to be the one to walk away." 

Despite that they were naked and so close Dean's skin was warmed by Sam's body heat, he shivered. Should he really be doing this? There was so much Sam didn't know right now. "Just know that... I love you, too." He kissed Sam once more, just a light smack. "Ask me more if you want. Better here than out there. Or not. Your choice." 

* * *

"The day before we left for Bobby's... I hated everything and everybody. Most of all Dad. Dean," Sam moved closer to his brother, "you and I... I _wanted_ you so much that I was sure I'd die if I lost you. And then... I got drunk and you had a rough night, but just as we were making up, Dad came in, remember? And later, he beat me with his belt, on my bare butt." The memory made Sam's cheeks burn. His mind knew it was long ago, but the shame over being treated like a small child still made him nauseous.

"You know why he beat me? Because he lied to me about you. You said you'd been beat up because someone said you were a twink, but Dad said you'd been hustling pool, so I knew he'd sent you there and I hated him for it. So I yelled at him and he spanked me, and then the next day I was all sore and he forced me to sit with him and not ride with you and I wanted to kill him."

Sam's voice had turned lower while he'd spoken and tears had formed in his eyes. "And now Dad is gone, and the last thing I remember of him is how much I hated him. Dean, please, you've got to tell me, did he and I make up? Before he... died?"

* * *

Oh lord, this was going to be messy. There was so much history that Sam didn't know about now, trapped in his not-quite-fifteen-year-old brain as he was. Dean didn't know how to answer without raising all sorts of questions. For one thing, Dean hadn't been beat up, per se. He'd had a rough night, hustling. Not pool or cards or darts but his ass. As in, world's oldest profession. Dean had never told his brother about any of that until recently, till after they'd been together. So the lie Sam made reference to was a cover-up. His Stanford years were all lost to him as well, and what made him return to the hunting life. And, most pressing right this minute, the circumstances leading to John's... departure.

He had to try. The longer Dean hesitated, the more suspicious Sam would be. "We – all three of us were in a bad car wreck. A demon trucker smashed Baby to hell with us inside. I... I was dead, a reaper came for me in the hospital. Dad made a deal with a demon – my life for his. But... we didn't know that when you..." Sam was going to be crushed. Yet a lie would be worse in the long-run, if his memory returned. "Let's just say that you spent a lot of time butting heads with Dad." That was an understatement. 

"When I woke up from being in a coma, he came to see me. You were there. And yeah, you guys were bickering again. Now we know that he knew he was going to die soon... He even sort of apologized to you. For... for not being a good dad, making you train and hunt, for keeping you in the dark." There was one little omission Dean was guilty of, too, inherited from John. That fork in the road was yet before them. "Then he sent you on a coffee run. I could see you wanted to tell him off and refuse, but you just shrugged and went. By the time you came back, he was gone."

Gone, as in, his soul had been taken, and the body followed into death. "The doctors tried to resuscitate him. Didn't work, there was nothing to bring back, I guess." There, it was out. Dean waited for the meltdown. All he could do was comfort Sam if he dissolved into grief, hold him back or take a few hits if his anger flared, or let him talk if he needed to.

* * *

"I..." Sam's lungs froze up as his brain processed what he was being told. So, Dad had tried to make things good between them and Sam had refused. It didn't really surprise him, but a part of him had hoped that they'd been at peace with each other when Dad had died. However, Dad had not only died, but he'd gone to hell, giving his soul so that Dean could live...

_Dean had died!_ An image flashed before Sam's eyes for only a fraction of a second, but he clearly recognized himself in the driver seat with Dad next to him and Dean in the back, covered in blood and unconscious. Dying.

He felt his vision graying. "C-can't breathe..." Sam managed to press out. "Dean?"

* * *

The news didn't set well. Sam's eyes glazed over, and he didn't manage one full word before he was gasping in labored breaths. 

"What is it – did you remember something?" Dean asked urgently, but Sam didn't seem to hear and there was no answer. In fact, Sam seemed to be somewhere other than here, in his mind. Where... and when? If he woke up naked with Dean – also naked – and couldn't remember what they'd just done, it might make things worse. Contemplating putting his clothes on, Dean decided against it. It would take too long, if this was over quickly.

Instead he gathered Sam to him and just held on. "Breathe, Sammy," he crooned. "I've got you." It had been years since Sam had needed an inhaler, but the wheezing worried Dean. What they didn't need was a full-blown panic attack, but considering their recent – well, all of it – history, he wasn't ruling it out. "Ssh, ssh... It'll be okay..." 

* * *

For some time, there was nothing but the desperate need for oxygen. Eventually, the cramping in his chest loosened a little and Sam could draw in a wheezing breath, but it cost him an effort that made his muscles hurt. The noise in his ears lessened and his vision returned, and he felt himself be held by strong hands that he immediately recognized as Dean's. His brother and, now, lover. Who had almost died because of an accident Sam had caused.

The panic flared up again, but Sam forced himself to take another painful gulp of air, then tried to answer the question. "Dean... I... the accident..." 

It was no use, without being able to breathe properly, speech was off the table for now. Sam let his body rest against Dean's and concentrated on breathing.

* * *

If Sam could remember that, maybe more would come back, too. "What, what about the accident? Yellow Eyes sent that demon after us... or that's as close as we can guess." 

But Sam struggled for words and still couldn't produce anything further. At least he wasn't struggling for air, but he seemed to be able to concentrate only on breathing. Maybe Dean should take his brother back to Bobby's. The older hunter was a lot more than he seemed, and maybe he'd know how to jog Sam's memories. 

Again, Dean decided against moving them. Besides the logistical problems of it, they needed time to talk it out. Isn't that what Sam always wanted? Facts – names, dates, events – Dean was happy to provide information. For now, he tried to relax, hopeful that Sam would draw warmth and comfort from his body. 

* * *

Sam clutched at his brother while he slowly calmed down. His heart was still racing, but the terror of asphyxiating dissolved slowly. He kept his eyes closed for another minute, inhaling deeply and feeling safe in Dean's arms.

His higher brain functions seemed to return, too: with the capability to breathe came the capability to think. A demon trucker had smashed the Impala, Dean had told him. So, Sam's brief memory flash of him driving didn't necessarily mean that he'd killed Dean, and thus, Dad. Sam scrunched his face into a frown, willing himself to remember more, but nothing happened except that his headache got worse.

"Who's Yellow Eyes?" he finally asked.

* * *

Finally, something coherent. Dean gathered his thoughts, staring at but not really seeing the pastel floral prints hung on the walls. Yellow Eyes was such a huge part of their lives, only they hadn't known much till the last year. It was possible that John had, and had kept it secret; they'd never know now on that account. 

"He's a demon, Sam. Most demons have pure black eyes, crossroads demons' eyes glow red, they say. This one is some special, more powerful brand of evil... The thing that killed Mom...? Dad finally tracked it down, and it's him. Well, like I told you – he made a deal. Meg called him her father. Can you believe it? Someone else's old man is even more of a nightmare than..." That wasn't fair to Sam, who was in mourning for the father he hadn't even known was dead till a few minutes ago. Dean muzzled the thought and shifted, not eager to get into the rest. 

"Never mind. Apparently he's after you now." Dean would keep Sam away from the bastard, too, no matter the cost. "I won't let him have you." 

Dean was getting chilled, between thinking about pure evil, the fluids on their skin cooling, and the inactivity. "Let's get under the covers, okay?" 

* * *

Demons with black, red, yellow eyes, and then... _"Mom?"_ Sam was stunned. All his life since Dean had explained to him what Dad was doing, and finally Dad teaching him about the Supernatural, Sam had known that Dad was after what killed his mother. To hear that he'd found it and that it killed him, too, made Sam shake again. But the worst was still to come.

_"And he's after me now?"_ Sam's voice turned shrill. It couldn't be. In only very few minutes, his life had turned from the utmost bliss he could imagine to the worst nightmare. 

"When you say you won't let him have me..." Sam shivered. Twenty-four year-old body or not, he felt the tears again and clutched harder at Dean. "That's what Dad must have said when he made the deal for your life. Dean, please, don't! I can't lose you, too!" He felt his chest lock up again and started crying.

* * *

"Sam! Sammy!" His distraught brother's grip tightened again, and Dean pulled him still closer, twined his legs through Sam's longer ones, anything to keep him from freaking out. Not when Dad had belted him, not when Jessica died, not even when Dean had ended their physical relationship, had he been like this, like he was a small child and it was the end of the world. Sam's tears flowed like a river, wetting Dean's shoulder and the side of his neck, running over his collarbone on the side he was lying on before soaking into the bedspread.

"You're not going to lose me, no way," Dean murmured. "We're still hunting that son of a bitch, and we'll get him one of these days. You and me." He wasn't good at this sort of thing, except with Sam. Dean let him wear himself out, cocooned him with his body and love. Reaching behind himself, he pulled the covers over them as far as they'd reach. He realized he was rocking just a little, and, tasting salt, that he was kissing Sam's cheeks and eyelids. "I love you too much to let you go, or check out, myself. Always did, always will." 

* * *

Sam was aware that Dean was trying to comfort him, but his brother's words made him cry even harder. "Dean," he wheezed, "it killed Mom all these years ago. I can't remember her, only from what you told me. And it killed Dad," he swallowed hard, "and all I can remember is fighting with him. If it's after me now, why do you suggest to hunt it? Dad tried that..." Sam's voice broke and he needed a minute to compose himself again.

"Shouldn't we stop hunting it and hide from it instead? Make sure it won't find us? What does it want from me? Maybe it loses interest if it can't find us."

* * *

Dean took his time in answering, giving Sam time to process. His current self never got like this, other than when he was dead drunk, and it had never been this level of distressed. Yet there was so much he had to know, if they were to survive the messed-up life that was theirs. "I know you don't know, can't remember it right now," Dean said seriously, "but it isn't going to leave us alone. It's hunt or be hunted. Whatever the thing's agenda is, it's been circling closer. There is no hiding." 

He was probably overloading the kid, but it couldn't be helped. Given what Dad had told him just before he died, Yellow-Eyes would sniff Sam out where ever they ran to. His blood was in Sam's blood. Dean wondered if it was in him now, too. Not really on purpose, he had none the less bitten in the heat of passion, and they'd gone at it more than once when injured and bloody. "Demons aren't bound by bodies and transportation like people... When they come out of a person, they're black smoke, and they come and go like 'poof!'" 

With a sigh, Dean mused, "Haven't I always said that life is short, get whatever you can out of it while you can." That motto had carried him through all the empty, Sam-less years. He didn't want them to end, but he didn't want any more regrets, either. He wanted the solid warmth of his brother next to him every night. Till Sam exiled himself to California, they were rarely out of each other's sight for more than a few hours. "Or, I dunno. You're the brains... Figure it out. How do we hide from the bitch? Like for good." 

* * *

Sam calmed some more while he listened, although what Dean told him wasn't exactly encouraging. "You say I'm the brains," he said slowly. "I wouldn't be so sure of that. But even if I were, I don't know enough to think up a good plan. I'd need more intel, but," he grimaced, "I'm not sure I want to have it."

"Dean," Sam sighed, "when you say it's going to find us... Are we safe here, for the moment? Or should we return back to Bobby's now?" He hesitated. "I'm not sure if I can handle company right now... Other than you, of course!"

* * *

"Not exactly a fluffy little fairy tale," Dean commented. "Intel, yeah, we still need more. Yellow-Eyes possessed Dad the night of the wreck... Why it sent Meg after you is anyone's guess. We do know that you're not the only one it's messed with. There has to be some end-game. " He didn't, couldn't, not yet, mention the fate of some of the others.

In the sense that the two of them had been so focused on their need to the exclusion of all else, Dean could see Sam's point about them being more careful. A lot of their prey could kill them in their sleep if it wanted. They'd grown up with salt lines in front of all the windows and doors as one of their few constants. From what he recalled of the all-consuming buzz from earlier, they both had their silver knives, neither had their pistols – weapons that wouldn't work on demons – and if Sam had had holy water on him, it was on the bathroom floor now. They were both naked. Dean had always had trouble remembering his Latin under duress; since Sam's memory was gone, whether he remembered the words to an exorcism or not was debatable.

"Not that it's any guarantee, but in the past, after we've had a difficult... episode with something nasty, there's a break, like a couple days, a week. Yes, we should get back to Bobby's soon. He's got that place warded like a strongroom and armed to the teeth. Plus, if there's any protection to be had, he'd be the most likely to know or find out. If it makes you feel better, I'll be happy to throw down salt lines and get some weapons out of the Impala." Dean sighed, and gave Sam squeeze, stroking his hair. "I'm not ready to go back either. It's been too long since we've been alone."

* * *

"I don't think it would make me feel better or safer if we had more weapons," Sam said slowly. "What I do know is that I'm feeling safe with you, here, right now, and I don't even want to let go of you so you can fetch stuff from the car."

Sam sighed. "Dean, if you consider it okay to stay here for... another hour or so..." He looked up at his brother's face, and the thought hit him that he missed ten years of watching Dean, seeing his face turn from the smoothness of youth to the rugged handsomeness Dean wore now. It was still strange to see, but Sam found himself turned on by the sight. And it wasn't only Dean's face that had the arousing effect; it was his brother's whole body. Dean had never been as lanky and gangly as Sam, but the firmness of the muscle under his probing hand was of a different quality of that of an eighteen-year-old.

He wasn't surprised that his musings had returned the blood to his groin. "I like being alone with you," Sam said with a shy smile. His hand moved over Dean's chest, hesitating briefly when it encountered a nipple. "Do you... Is this okay?" he asked as he leaned in to lick at the nub, amazed at the salty taste it left on his tongue.

* * *

Sam's next statement, that he felt safe here, with Dean, was accompanied a sense of relief. Of course Sammy needed to acclimate himself, and the changes in what he took as his life and family then versus now were huge, and then there was the thing with Dad. Still, Dean didn't feel all that comfortable with lengthy expressions of emotion, unless one counted sex and he guessed most people wouldn't count it. 

Some of that safety and comfort, while he was on the subject, meant Sam was receptive to him, physically. Those slanted hazel-green eyes had been fixed on his face the last minute; Dean was more than familiar with being checked out. "Yeah, I know, I've aged, but I'm still pretty handsome, right?" he joked.

Sam must have agreed; he asked tentatively if he could touch Dean, then ducked down to lick his nipple, which was popped erect under his tongue. Dean let out a quiet little moan, blood racing south. "You can touch me however you want, Sam. Like this, alone, we have no walls between us, okay?" He hoped the 14-year-old could understand. It was kind of a turn-on to see him so tentative, though. Different. Again, there was that protective edge. Protective of Sammy, his little brother. And then, too, as far as he knew, he'd just had sex for the first time and must be feeling vulnerable. 

Dean's chest was tingling with the sensation radiating from Sam's pokes and flicks. He arched, still keeping his arms around Sam. Oh, yeah, something was alive and growing down there, and not just him. "Sam... I'm out of condoms but there's more in the car. Do you... Are you really sore?" The older Sam had gone three rounds – and paid for it – their first full encounter. He didn't want anything unpleasant at all for this younger one. There was always hands and mouths, or... Sammy, Jr. Didn't know about that, either. 

Slowly rubbing his dick against Sam's, vein to vein, their balls pressed close, Dean laid it out. "No pressure. You know all the things we can do to get each other off... or you could drive." The scent of them still surrounded their pocket of air, and, Dean would swear, a new tang of pheromones eager for more. 

He pulled Sam up, taking his mouth in a fierce kiss, pulling their hips in tight. Under his hand, Sam's long back was a mile of warm skin that he traced every feature of, back down to the taut cheeks he'd been all up in, earlier. It wasn't typical for Dean to roll over, so to speak, since Sam tended to prefer face-to-face. Keeping his eyes half open, Dean once again skimmed his beloved's face: high, smooth forehead; perfectly formed dark, straight eyebrows: narrow nose, the small moles that marked him even more unique and... cute. Sam's deep dimples flashed when he smiled... Or when he kissed, when that incredibly mobile mouth curved itself into all sorts of interesting shapes to bring pleasure to his partner. Those same lips, wrapped around Dean's cock, was enough to give the pope a wet dream. Speaking of wet, Sam's dick leaked onto his, and suddenly, Dean was raging, thundering hard. "Oh, god..." 

* * *

"Handsome?" Sam blushed. It was what he'd thought of Dean's looks only a second ago, but now that his brother had spoken the word, it didn't sound right. "No, you're..." Beautiful? 

Suddenly, an image flashed through Sam's mind of Dean tensing up when some chick had referred to him as 'beautiful'. In the same moment, a memory came crashing down on him. Sam wasn't sure how he knew, but Dean had been sexually abused! Another unbidden image came where he was kissing – forcing a kiss on – a blonde woman, Jo. Oh god! Dean had told him that he'd attacked this girl Jo, but Sam had refused to believe it. Now he knew it to be true.

Before he could react, however, he felt Dean cradle their dicks against each other, and the sensation drove every other thought from his mind. "No walls," he gasped, confirming Dean's statement. Except...

His brother must have read Sam's thoughts. Condoms. Of course. Sam felt a rush of fierce protectiveness. He had no idea of what he'd done in the past decade. He needed to get tested although the hospital would likely call CPS if he asked for STD tests... No, stop that thought, he was 24...

While he'd been thinking, Dean had continued to speak, assuring him that there was no pressure. Sam smiled, remembering the two years as youngsters when they'd brought each other off over and over using their hands and mouths, one time even their feet...

Dean surprised him yet again. _"You could drive."_

It took Sam a moment to wrap his brain around this before he realized that there were actually _two_ loves in Dean's life. It made him want to giggle, but the offer was so... grand... that Sam felt awed. Still...

"That means so much to me," he said, his mouth suddenly dry. "You offering to let me drive your Baby." Sam looked into his brother's eyes. "Do you... Could I take a rain check? I'm not putting her down," he hurried to explain, "but right now I'd much rather have you..."

* * *

Well, Dean thought, he supposed it didn't matter what Sam thought about his looks. It was kind of vain. He got enough attention – good and bad – from strangers over his face. He couldn't help that he'd been born looking more like his mother, of his two parents. Not that he wanted to think about his parents right now! 

'Drive his...?' Dean chuckled. "Baby? I meant you could drive... my ass, but we both know how much you like yours _driven_. Or maybe I should say 'ridden'. Either way." He dived in again, seeking Sam's tongue with his. The slick slide, the slight sucking sensation went straight to his groin, and Dean rolled his hips. 

* * *

Before Sam could reply to Dean's answer, his lips were covered and taken by his brother's mouth. Under the overwhelming desire the kiss ignited, Sam listened to the explanation of Dean offering his ass, but it was immediately drowned out when his brother referred to Sam being 'ridden' or 'driven'. 

"Nnuugh!" he gasped when Dean's tongue stabbed into his mouth, setting up a rhythm as if he were fucking Sam. The motion was mirrored by Dean's hips, and Sam was reduced to moaning, flooded by a deep need to feel Dean inside his body again.

"Please, Dean," Sam all but stammered when his brother broke the kiss to catch a breath, "if you don't have another condom right here in your pocket, please go NOW and get one. Or, as many as you have."

* * *

Dean groaned long and loud, not as a complaint, but in response of how Sam made him feel, and the anticipation of whichever way they ended up making love. He was starting to sweat again, his body producing slick from every pore. 

"Yeah, I'll just make a dash. If I don't fall on my face first." One leg in his jeans, he smirked and made reference to the flushed hard-on jutting up from his groin. It bounced as he got the other leg in and jumped to pull them up. "This is gonna suck, trying to stuff that in my pants." 

Not bothering to zip up all the way, Dean threw the long plaid shirt on to semi-decently cover himself enough for a ten-second trip to the car. He took one last lingering look at his naked brother on the bed – it was all he could do not to drool – and ducked out the door, taking care not to lock himself out. The concrete was warm but pebbly under his bare feet, as he looked left and right and hurried over to Baby.

The supplies were tucked under the front seat, reachable from front or back. Dean grabbed the condoms and bottle of Astroglide, patted the Impala's hood, and returned to the room, locking the door behind him. Triumphantly, he let the strip of condoms unroll to reveal half a dozen of the linked packets with their raised circle centers, and held up the lube. "Voila. Now where were we?" Once again he dropped his pants and tossed the shirt, gave a careless stroke or two to his dick, and crawled toward to Sam, who was propped up one elbow. Dean could work it, oh yeah; he slowed to twist his spine side to side, make his ass sway opposite his shoulders. It was a tease, but at the last second, he knelt up, knees spread, looking down at Sam from under lowered lids. "You want me?" 


	3. Chapter 3

Sam wasn't happy that Dean had to leave him alone, even though it would only be for a minute. However, the _need_ to become one with his brother's body, to feel Dean deep inside him, was stronger. Watching Dean getting dressed in frantic moves made Sam smile, and he loved him even more when Dean started the running commentary – to take Sam's mind off the 'separation'? And his own as well, Sam mused.

He giggled at the suggestion that Dean's dick would shift his center of gravity enough so that he'd fall. Of course, it wouldn't happen. Dean was a hunter, after all, and he was always in control of his body. Okay, maybe not when he was in bed with Sam, close to releasing...

The thought kept Sam's fantasy so busy that he almost didn't notice that Dean had left. He did notice, however, when his brother returned, a triumphant grin on his face as he displayed his loot. Sam's heart melted. Dean looked so happy and boyish, completely different from only a few minutes ago when they'd talked about... _No. Think of something else, Sam!_

Distraction came easily and immediately in the form of Dean giving himself a couple of strokes. Sam's jaw dropped, but it was over before he could really get into watching. Then Dean wiggled his butt, and Sam's breathing hitched – in the good sense this time.

The display made Sam drool to the point that he found it difficult to speak. "I... 'course I want you!" He knelt up, too, and pressed his groin against Dean's. "I'll always want you," repeated Sam before crushing his mouth over his brother's, sucking at his luscious lips, moaning when they opened to let him in.

Dean let him explore his mouth, his teeth, his palate before greeting Sam's tongue with his own, teasing it, then chasing it into Sam's mouth for some exploring on his own. "Mmmhh... Nnghhh..." Sam was reduced to moans while he licked and sucked. Judging from Dean's reaction, his brother was at least as desperate as Sam.

The heat from Dean's groin matched his own, and soon they were rubbing against each other, panting and kissing as if their lives depended on it. Maybe they did; in any event, Sam had no intention of finding out what would happen if they stopped. 

* * *

Nothing was going to interrupt them now. Dean opened his every sense to Sam, from the the low, resonant timbre of his moans to the wet slide of his slick and insistent tongue and those big paws all over his body, pulling at him. The thick, aphrodisiac scent of semen and sweat from the sex still hung in the air. 

"Wish I could suck you." Dean turned slightly so he could wiggle a hand between them. "You're so sweet," he whispered. "Your taste, and just everything. I need to touch you..." When Dean grasped that throbbing flesh in his hand, Sam's shivery lurch and the immediate churning motions of his hips sent raw shocks of heat through him. He let the tight squeeze speak of his love, then the slow pull all the way to the tip, the play of foreskin under the side of his palm and thumb where he slid it up over the flared ridge. Sam was dripping with pre-come already, and Dean pressed his thumb right over the source, the slit, then circled the smooth, hot dome of the crown. 

"Good boy, so big and wet for me..." As if to silence his own words, Dean pressed his mouth to Sam's shoulder. Enough with this tease – he reversed the slide of his fist on Sam's dick and pushed to the base, then back up the entire swollen cylinder. How did the dude not spend his entire life just playing with this monster? Hell, hadn't Dean spent years jacking off to the fantasy and memory? Between the size and the rigidity of steel and the extra sensitivity that came from having intact foreskin, it was like a bonus prize after already winning the jackpot. Well, and it kind of had been, when they'd started up again, because at nearly fifteen, Sam had grown to the same height as Dean and their junk was the same size, Sam having grown there, too, but the intervening decade had graced Sam with not only four inches in height but, below the belt, proportions most usually described as, "...like a horse." Far from being insecure about his own equipment, Dean knew what he was packing was more than average, more than enough to please his brother till he couldn't see straight or walk right, and he was so fucking proud of Sam and wanted him so much, wanted to touch him and kiss him and make him feel so good... 

On that subject, what Sam loved best of all was for Dean to play with his hole – he'd always been like that. Over the years, Sam had taken more and more up there. After the first time Dean had got a finger inside far enough to touch his prostate, there was no going back – nothing would turn Sam into a begging, crying, mewling little bitch faster than Dean's hard cock rubbing that sweet spot as they fucked themselves into oblivion. 

He wasn't going to deprive Sam of that, no way. Sliding a finger between the tensed cheeks, Dean grinned at the sharp intake of breath and how Sam spread his knees wide, arching for him. If Dean was honest, he would have to say that he was just as affected, in the opposite position. The first time he'd let Sam do him, stubbornly on his hands and knees, he'd cum twice untouched when Sam, voice strained and shaking over every inch of his body from trying to hold back, had begged his forgiveness for not satisfying him. Dean's answer had been to wrestle Sam onto his back and ride him till his seed spattered in fanned lines up the tautly-muscled torso, the hot bursts of cum up his ass making him yowl to the ceiling. 

"You want me up there again, huh?" The little opening clenched and relaxed several times as Dean rubbed at the rim with two fingers. He let go of Sam's dick and reached for the lube. While Sam would be a little looser now, he'd have to be just as careful not to make him sorer than he might already be from overuse. Coating three fingers, Dean slid the first in smoothly. "So hot!" he hissed. Sure, he knew what Sam felt like on the inside, too. That didn't mean he ever was less than amazed by the tightness, the smooth walls, the ripple of muscle that would soon grip him snugly. 

Holding his brother against him, slowly rocking his pelvis so his needy dick poked into the hollow of Sam's hip, Dean worked in a second digit. His wrist was starting to cramp but he refused to pull back because just ahead, a little more... there was the bump of his pleasure gland. Dean brushed it lightly. "There you are, Sammy... Love you, baby." Again he rubbed over it, then tapped. It wasn't lost on him, all the deep groans coming from Sam, or the way he was grinding and his sphincter tightened into a death-grip. "Relax, man... You ready for me? How do you want it – from behind or on your back?" Okay, so he wasn't the most romantic guy ever – except when he _was_ – mostly Dean just needed to know because his balls were about ready to create string theory on their own and he needed it so bad now; if Sam wanted a say beyond just being mounted, he'd have to speak up.

* * *

Sam may have wanted to take an active role in their love-making, kissing Dean, blowing him, and whatever else he'd come up with, but with the first touch of Dean's finger on his hole, any plan he may have had was gone from his mind. There was nothing left now but naked desire, a desperate need to feel Dean inside him, giving him the 'deep dicking' he'd mentioned earlier.

_"You want me up there again, huh?"_

Dean's suggestion was offered in a hoarse tone, and the combination of the voice and the words made Sam's head jerk back in a moan as a spurt of slick fluid escaped from his slit.

"Oh fuck, yeah," he groaned, then pushed back desperately on Dean's finger that slid in and out of his body, angling for the pleasure spot that would drive Sam crazy. A second finger followed, and Sam felt himself relaxing, preparing to take his brother's cock. He couldn't stop wiggling his hips, whining when Dean pulled his fingers out, and almost crying out an enthusiastic, "Yes, yes!" when Dean asked him if he were ready.

"I'm ready for you," Sam panted. "Dean, god, I want you so much! Need you to fuck me! Wanna see your face when you lose it..."

* * *

_Want you to fuck me! Wanna see your face when you lose it!_

The impassioned plea almost made Dean lose it right there. His erection jerked so hard, he went momentarily motionless and clenched his teeth, willing himself not to come. Another strand of slick unspooled from his full balls, providing no relief at all in the silky feel of the wetness rising, blurting, smearing onto the smooth skin of Sam's flank. His brother needed him so bad, too! 

Dean bore them both down, laying Sam out onto his back and nudging his legs apart. Before he totally lost himself, he tore open a condom packet and rolled it on. "I'll use extra," he rasped, chest heaving for air, as he found the lube and slapped a thick, cool layer of it all over his dick, "but you've had two fingers, and me, earlier, and I wanna fuck you open." He shoved a pillow from the bed under Sam's ass and leaned over to lick at his chest, finding the nipple. It was a different flavor than his skin, oilier. Sam arched up; he writhed and tossed his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut, lip raised in a snarl. Long dark strands fanned onto the sheet. 

"Look at me, Sammy..." Dean moved his body into position, little by little. He was braced up on one elbow, hips settling into the cradle made by Sam's groin and his thighs. God, he wanted in, to be inside, to give them that! It was like some thing, some force, spread its protective wings around them when they were together – nothing touched them in this act of devotion. 

When his brother gave Dean his gaze, he guided himself to the slightly opened hole. Lined up, tip to spoked little puckers. "Here it is," he breathed. Dean could feel his own snarl and the beginning of the stupid, slack-jawed blank look he'd seen more than once on his own face thanks to kinky chicks with mirrors. Pushing it from his mind, he wove his fingers through Sam's hair and let his body begin to thrust like it wanted, just slowly, steady, stopping every time Sam tightened up. "That's it, you feel so good, so hot, just a little more." 

Halfway in, Dean shook from holding back, a drop of sweat fell from his nose, and he stopped. The muscles in his ass were going to cramp from the tension built up there, and his balls were pulled up so tight he could practically hit them with his Adam's apple when he swallowed. "Please, Sam... Please let me..." he whined.

* * *

_"I wanna fuck you open."_

Sam's eyes rolled back in his head and he had to bite his lip hard in a desperate fight against coming instantly. "Oh yeah, just do it already!" he ground out.

Dean wrangled him onto his back – had to because Sam seemed to be beyond moving. A pillow under his butt and Dean on top of him, Sam found himself restrained and it fueled his passion. "Do it, take me, I'm yours," he hissed, eyes wide with need and looking at Dean, as instructed.

"Oh god!" Sam exclaimed when Dean began to open him up with firm and steady thrusts. Again, he relished the burning sensation of being spread wide, speared by Dean's rock-hard erection. His hole was throbbing and clenching, needing so badly to be filled to the root. 

However, half-way in, Dean stopped, apparently waiting for Sam's permission, begging him to be let in. Seeing his brother begging almost pushed Sam over the edge again – he'd been on the verge of climaxing all the time with every word and move Dean made bringing him closer. There was only one chance to reach his peak with Dean sheathed all inside him: his brother had to get there within the very few next seconds.

"Dean," Sam whined, his voice sounding disconcertingly similar to his brother's, "all the way in, now! Please! Oh god, please do it now, I can't..."

His sentence was cut off when Dean pushed in forcefully. Sam's body stiffened and he could only make a gurgling sound as his balls and dick exploded.

* * *

Not usually one to wait for permission beyond the first determination of whether sex was happening or not, Dean spared a thought over his reluctance. It was mostly because Sam was... young, in his head. Teenaged Dean would have been fine with giving it to him like a tornado after the first time, but 28-year old Dean desired his brother's happiness, if possible, more than his younger self, sexually and otherwise. The demands, the writhing of that incredible long body and Sam's begging for 'inside' got Dean through his hesitation. 

With all his strength, Dean snapped his hips forward, driving in to the base. Sam howled, arching in release almost immediately. His legs clutched, his seed slathered them, and his sounds...! Like he was dying or something, but it was all pleasure. Dean gave him everything through his orgasm, every thrust slick and powerful. He relished each thick spurt of Sam's cream between their bellies, hot and thick and ticklish. "So beautiful when you come, Sam... Love you so much!" So much to this man: his body, and how he shared it. 

Caught up in the act, Dean, rolling his hips, worked Sam through it. He was utterly turned on, yet found himself able to hold off. Twice now, Sam had lost it – spectacularly – soon after Dean had penetrated him fully. Typical of a teenaged boy, yeah, but Dean wanted to give him the alternate experience of building up, one little movement, one kiss, one thrust at a time, through a long slow fuck till his load was practically milked out of him. "Tell me if it's too much," he whispered, drawing his dick out of the pulsating hole almost to the tip, sliding it in again, slow, so slow, kissing Sam's chest and neck in a languid pace as well.

* * *

If Sam had thought that Dean would follow him over the edge and stop after blowing his wad, he was wrong. He had no idea how his brother managed to hold back – hell, he even talked coherently – but Dean continued thrusting. At first, while Sam was still coming, Dean worked him hard, gave him everything he had. Then, when the flood from Sam's balls had reduced to a trickle, Dean slowed down, changed his rhythm from sharp and powerful to even and deep, while making sure he dragged his cock over Sam's prostate with every move.

Sam's perception went from satiation to discomfort. He'd never experienced overstimulation of his prostate gland before although he'd read about it and laughed it off. How could one ever get enough of having this miraculous place stimulated? Well, he was finding out now. He tried to squirm away, but his brother's hands held him firmly in position. Sam whined, but despite Dean's urge to tell him if it got to be too much, Sam didn't ask him to stop.

Clenching his teeth and hoping that Dean would finish soon, Sam noticed to his surprise that although he wasn't hard, his dick started spewing fluids every time Dean nudged his inner gland. It felt like unbearable pressure inside his body and a series of mini-orgasms at the same time, and it wasn't long before Sam was moaning again.

"M-more! P-please, Dean, need more...!"

* * *

"Mmmm, yeah, Sam...give you more," Dean groaned, every syllable a mile long. Every slippery pull out and slow-motion thrust back in felt just as long. Sam's rim was clamped tight around him, and the muscles spasmed like never before, on and on, circular flutters within the grip of it. Dean couldn't even speak any longer, hearing the expression of his pleasure in multiple little gasps. 

Rearing up, Dean sat back on his knees, grasping Sam's ass to pull his lower body into his lap. As painfully erect as Dean was right now, if not inside Sam, his dick would be upright, tight to his stomach. In a perpendicular position, Sam's pelvis up and forward, the downward drag would put more pressure on his sweet spot, and Sam was already beside himself with needing that. 

Dean looked down – Sam was shiny with sweat, mouth swollen and slack, eyes slitted, his arms thrown to the sides. God, he was gorgeous, ripped and perfectly formed, not even the scars detracted from his masculine beauty – Dean never stopped thinking so. Keeping up his restless yet controlled rocking, he noticed how clear fluid escaped in little spurts from Sam's mostly-soft cock every time he pushed in. The two of them were always full of juice, forever leaking wet spots in their underwear and bedding, but this... Where the hell was it all coming from?

Fuck if that mattered, it was Dean's job to get it all out, to milk his brother not just into his next orgasm, but dry, if such a thing was possible. Holding firmly to Sam's sharp, heavy hipbones, Dean spread his knees wide and dug his toes into the bedspread. Eyes glued to Sam's he worked through the over-stimulation Sam wouldn't admit to, gently, gently each thrust a careful nudge but drawn out. Panting, Dean watched the tiny nipples pebble up again, gooseflesh rising and turning into the next mottled flush, and the burgeoning, swelling skin of Sam's penis as it filled and thickened, sprung to attention with the purple head outgrowing the foreskin. 

He had to touch that! Dean jacked Sam at the same pace as he fucked him, pure wonder at how he still pumped out minute jets of slick. "You..." he swallowed the saliva flooding his mouth. The mounting tension and need to release it flared hot, nearly unbearable now, because Dean's peak was building low in his spine and his ass and his balls were just at the point of breaking or condensing down into nothing. "You been cumming this whole time, huh Sam?" Nothing but genuine awe, there. There was a puddle all over Sam's belly, in his navel, running over to drip in the bed. "'M close... Gotta cum in you..." His own pre-mess drooled into the condom, making his dick itch, and he needed to scratch that so bad! 

He'd meant to wait even longer, but Dean's body had had enough. Collapsing forward, into the same position as earlier, Dean let his lust fly unbound, their bodies joined and striving. "Ungh, ungh, unng, hnngh," he grunted, while his hips smacked into Sam's, his balls spanked Sam's ass and he couldn't see or hear anything but Sam below him sprawled on the bed with his legs up and around him, and his own scream for his brother to follow when his orgasm finally turned him into a brainless mass of muscle, skin and seed. It went on and on, the spasms of his lower body to expel his life force, till he finally stopped thrusting – his balls could heave no more. 

"Sammmm..." he croaked, voice breaking like he was 12. Just that, 'You okay?' and 'did you cum?' and 'I love you' all in one.

* * *

It went on forever, Sam was moaning and writhing while his brother attempted to milk him dry – that's what it felt like, but apparently, Sam's body held an unlimited amount of fluid and pleasure. Eventually, the pressure inside him turned into fully-fledged, rock-hard need again. It was a whole-body experience. There were the deep thrusts in and out of his body, joining him with his lover, his brother, Dean, whose dirty talk added to the lust they were both swimming in.

"Uuhhhnnnn..." Sam groaned when Dean started jacking him, slowly but with an iron grip. His dick was going to be sore – and it was perfect! He thought that nothing could be better when he saw in Dean's eyes that his brother had reached his breaking point. And then Dean was slamming into him as if there were no tomorrow. The nailing of his prostate felt like having a live wire attached to it, and although Sam was close to screaming at Dean to stop torturing his painfully overstimulated gland, he knew that he needed the torture to continue, that he'd _die_ if Dean didn't massage every single drop of fluid from him.

A final well-aimed stab was accompanied by Dean's hoarse scream as his brother started filling the condom, and then his moves became frantic as Dean's body took the reins and slammed into him in a random rhythm. Sam felt it building up, his mouth opening in a scream, but too breathless to emit a sound yet. Then it burst out of him, burning through his inner ducts, forcing its way out, a gelatinous liquid so viscous it made his climax excruciating, yet sending him even higher.

Sam howled and yelled, his pleasure, his pain, his love. When his body went limp, his dick was still pumping out the thick substance that came from deep within him, making him spasm and shake with the force of the longest orgasm he'd ever experienced.

Dean was heavy on top of him, pinning him, but Sam didn't want it any other way. _"Sammmm..."_ his brother croaked, and Sam returned the moan with a breathless "Deannn..." He wasn't sure if they could ever move again, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was with Dean, and Sam would be content if they stayed on this bed, glued together by his sticky cum, for eternity.

* * *

It could have only been minutes, but it seemed like days to Dean, that they lay there, suspended in some other plane of existence. He was aware, as if from outside and above himself, how he was spread out in a sweaty sprawl on top of Sam's darker-skinned body, fine tremors running through them both.

Groaning with deep satisfaction and exhaustion, he raised his head off Sam's shoulder. "Damn... That was... awesome." Sam's eyes cracked open and tracked over to his. Grinning, Dean wormed his arm between them, holding the condom while he slowly pulled free. "Jeez, man..." There was so much jizz all over them, all of it Sam's. He swirled his fingertips through it. "Thick. Did it, like, hurt... to... When you let that go?" 

* * *

Sam's brain wasn't tracking. _Did it, like, hurt..._ Dean's words were overlaid with Sam's thoughts. _How could Dad allow to let these men hurt Dean?_ He gasped out in shock as he suddenly remembered a scene that was eerily close to their current situation: after they'd gone the whole way for the first time, Dean had, under tears, told Sam how he'd been violated as a teen.

The memory felt like a horse kicking him in the nuts. It was followed by the mental image of Sam spread-eagle on a table with a group of men lining up behind him and...

"NO!" he yelled and pushed Dean aside, shuddering violently. "No! It wasn't real! That... wasn't me!"

* * *

Expecting some lazy reply to his teasing inquiry, Dean's eyebrows shot up and his mouth dropped open in surprise when Sam suddenly flipped out, yelling that it wasn't real, wasn't him. Jeez, had he been too rough? Hurt him by going on and on like that? He'd told Sam to stop him if he couldn't take it... But when would Sam ever admit to that, especially the younger version? If he'd violated Sam's trust like that, he might as well go shoot himself.

But he couldn't know now, not yet. Sam wasn't himself right now. Dean couldn't decide if he should try to comfort his brother or to stay the hell out of Sam's personal space. Wild-eyed, staring at nothing, Sam tensed, like he was gathering himself to bolt. Crap, what if this was one of his visions again? It could be about anything, and it wouldn't be about him because Dean had no part in whatever the psychic force was that took Sam over. He'd hoped against all hope that now that they'd broken Meg's hold, the visions with their accompanying excruciating headaches and black-outs would be over. Typical, that their only luck was bad. 

Dean scooted back, sitting cross-legged, but keeping a hand on Sam's shoulder. "What is it, Sam? What wasn't real? I'm real... We're real." 

* * *

Slowly, Dean's voice filtered through the confusion. One hand on Sam's shoulder, Dean told him that he's real, that they were real. It took a few minutes, but eventually Sam believed him. 

"I... I may have remembered something..." he said, shuddering again at the image he couldn't quite push from his mind. "Dean, when... we were together for the first time... I mean for the _first_ time... did we talk afterward?"

Sam bit his lip as he waited for the answer, desperately hoping it wasn't a real memory.

* * *

Had they talked? They had, and the conversation came flying back in Dean's face, things he tried to forget, never wanted to talk about again. Sam, though, even at the time had said that while Dean had been dealing with the after-effects of certain things he'd been subjected to during his teenaged years for more than half his life, Sam had only learned of these after they'd become lovers and he would need time to process it. At the time, it had been the proverbial dam breaking: Dean told him how he'd been forced to sell his body for money, to keep their family afloat. They'd never discussed it again since, although sometimes it seemed to hang in the air, especially when they had sex, or when they talked about the past. Something of that conversation must have broken through. But if it didn't, he didn't want to discuss it again. "Yeah..." he replied slowly. "We talked... after. Why do you ask?"

* * *

"I may have remembered something," Sam repeated slowly. "But I'm not sure it really happened. It... shouldn't have happened. Not to you. You're always so strong and..." He leaned into the touch. It was 'only' Dean's hand on his shoulder, it felt like a lifeline to Sam.

"I remember thinking... How could Dad allow that? Letting someone hurt you, no, explicitly inviting guys to hurt you!" Sam shuddered. 

"And then... I saw... never mind," he interrupted himself and forced a fake smile on his face. "Think positive, right? Now that I'm beginning to remember stuff, I should be back to my _old_ self soon," he winked.

* * *

Of all the things he could have remembered, why that? The sex – and what this Sam currently knew as his first time – must have triggered it. Speaking of Dean's fingers itched for his gun, which was back at Bobby's and could so nothing to dispel his dearth of old, bad memories. 

"Sam, if I'm strong, it's because life made me that way. You know it, yourself. Be tough or die. I won't lie to you. You never saw anything – I made sure of that. So what you think you were seeing probably wasn't the way it really happened. Okay? Just leave it at that." 

* * *

Shit, Dean had interpreted Sam's backing out the wrong way. "It wasn't... I know you're strong, but... Maybe I'm not. What I saw... wasn't you..." He swallowed.

"Dean have I... Do you know if... anyone ever did that to me?"

* * *

Dean could've cried with relief that the subject of his deepest horror was off the table, more or less. But what if... Sam? "As far as I know, your ass was still virgin our first time. Were you... How old do you think you were, in this... vision, or memory, or whatever?"

He had to be careful. If John had forced Sam to pander and also made him keep it a secret from Dean, Dean would rip him to shreds in effigy. The mere thought of it was enough to send hot blood to his face and ear, and his pulse pounded with unwanted wrathful adrenaline. "Did someone hurt you, Sam?" he growled. 

* * *

Sam winced at the barely concealed rage in Dean's voice. "I... not sure," he stammered. Frowning, he closed his eyes and tried to bring the image back to his mind. "I think it must have been recently," he said. "My arms were hairier than I remember." He looked at his arms and balled his hands into fists. "Just like they're now," he added softly.

"Dean... if someone had hurt me, I'd have told you, wouldn't I?" Sam pleaded. As a fourteen-year-old, he'd have blurted everything out to his brother immediately, but Sam didn't know how his 24-year-old counterpart would have reacted. "Do we still trust each other like we did ten years ago?"

* * *

Would Sam tell him? Good question. "You'd have told me, if you were young. Before we... stopped. You know. And for the last, oh, how long has it been?" Dean thought about it, shifting on the bed, "five months, you'd have told me. It's not that we didn't trust each other, as hunters, but you turned into a secretive little bitch – no offense – and then you were at Stanford for almost four years."

Too late, Dean heard it slip out. He didn't want to reveal too much, too soon. But he didn't know much about Sam's life from then. Nor those times when Sam blacked out recently. "Did you recognize anyone? Or the place?" Frantic to find out who had messed with his brother, Dean waited helplessly. 

* * *

"Stanford?" Sam ignored Dean's question about recognizing anything or anyone in his memory. "What the hell was I doing in Stanford for four years?" The way Dean had phrased it implied that he and Dad hadn't been there with Sam.

* * *

"Going to school. You took off when you were 18, got a full ride. Now answer me, Sam," Dean said distractedly, leaning forward. "What do you remember? Who was it? I'll kill them!"

* * *

"No, w-wa-wait..." Sam raised his hand. His head was spinning. "I went to school? For four years? On a full ride? What did I study? Did I get a degree?" 

Could it really be possible that he'd escaped hunting? If so, why... "Why did I return to hunting?"

* * *

Dean sighed. At this rate, Sam wasn't going to tell him anything. He rolled his shoulders, trying to keep his temper under control. "Pre-law, Sam. Yes, you graduated. You were about to go to law school when..." Oh god, he was about to open a can of worms there would be no going back from. "Dad went missing. So I came and got you to help track him down. It was supposed to only be for a weekend, but..." Oh, shit. "Well, you never went back," he finished lamely. 

* * *

_"Law school?"_ Sam stared at Dean, convinced that his brother was pranking him. "I went to fucking law school? Or meant to go? I can't believe it. Law..." He shook his head. Yes, he'd wanted to go to school, get a degree and all that, but _law?_

The look Dean gave him told him that it wasn't joke. Sam tried to think of some legal paragraph or anything else he might have learned during these four years, but nothing sprang to mind. Instead, Sam thought he could smell something. Something sweet and... _Jess baked cookies,_ he thought, and then...

"Who the hell is Jess?"

* * *

Though he repeated his questions, Dean could tell that Sam at least partially believed him, and what reason would he have for lying, anyway? He raised his eyebrows and nodded once, a short, jerky motion. Sometimes he still felt bad for dragging Sam away from that, but it had been Sam's choice, after... 

As if he'd read Dean's thought process, Sam demanded, "Who the hell is Jess?" Skirting the issue would only get him in more trouble down the road. Dean could well remember his brother, just before he turned fifteen, furious with him for his proposed birthday present of sex with a woman. Instead of with him. _"I like dick!!"_ Sam had yelled at him, incensed. Whatever other very nice attributes the six-foot Barbie doll of a girlfriend Sam had been pre-engaged to when Dean had turned up in his apartment that night possessed, a dick wasn't one of them. 

Dean decided he might as well get this over with. "She was your girlfriend. In California." 

* * *

"She was my girlfriend?" Sam felt stupid repeating almost everything Dean said, but he couldn't help it. As if losing ten years of his life wasn't bad enough; apparently he'd done the weirdest things during these ten years.

"I wanted to study law and I had a girlfriend," Sam recapped, still trying to wrap his head around this stranger he'd supposedly become. "And then Dad went missing and I went with you and never returned. Left _law school_ and my _girlfriend_ behind in fucking _California_. Maybe I wasn't so happy with the apple pie life I always wanted, huh?" Sam laughed without humor. 

"How did she... Jess... take it? Were we, like, really in love? Did I just vanish or did I at least give her a proper good-bye? I couldn't have explained things... hunting, right? Or was it that..." He swallowed. 

His mind was flooded with questions. "Did I leave because you changed your mind about me?" Sam asked softly. "Did you really just come because Dad went missing? And how..." Suddenly, Sam's gut felt like it was filled with ice. "How was it possible for me to stop hunting? To stop being with you and Dad? He said so many times he'd never let me go have the life I wanted, so why didn't he haul my ass back? Why didn't _you_ haul my ass back?"

Sam trembled. He wasn't sure he really wanted to hear the answers, but there was a voice inside him that said he needed to know.

* * *

Dean allowed Sam to go on for a while, finally putting his hands up. "Whoa, whoa! Twenty questions, Sam. This is... Everything you want to know, well, it's a long story."

Of course he'd been, the whole time, but it suddenly occurred to Dean that he was naked. Not shy, never around Sam, he felt over-exposed, and he wanted at least some of his clothes. Dean turned, about to swing his legs over the side of the bed when he noticed the used condom still clinging to his dick like a sad, deflated little jellyfish. Grimacing, he pulled it off and tossed it into the corner. Now that Sam had witnessed _that_ , clothes weren't going to make him feel any better. Dean slumped against the headboard, trying to sift through the questions.

"You probably don't recall it right now, or maybe you can – the day that's yesterday for you. I said, someday maybe we can get out, get away from Dad. Back then, I knew it was pointless to try. He'd just have hunted us down. From that day till the day you ran off to California, you and Dad butted heads, and argued, and fought... By then, I think he... maybe it was a relief to him, I don't know. I kept tabs on you as best I could, shared the info with Dad. He always thanked me but there was never talk of going to get you." It was strange, because before, as well as after, John had been so sure that Sam needed protecting, guarding. Why him staying California – away from them – had been okay with their father was a mystery. 

"I don't know for sure how you really felt about Jess and your potential apple-pie life. Only you know that. No, you never told her about being a hunter. After, after we left, you said you'd been fooling yourself, that the average Joe lifestyle wasn't for you. When I looked you up," Dean looked directly at Sam, willing him to believe him, "I thought it was just to find Dad... Thought we'd do it in a couple of days. It took months." 

His voice was threatening to cut out, but Dean went on. "I never stopped wanting you or loving you. A lot of that, for me, was wanting the best for you, misguided or not. I thought that was college and law school, a wife, kids, a dog... all of that. But then, there was this little selfish part of me that wanted you back. In my life. As my brother, at least. Hunting together. Even if not together-together. If I hadn't come for you then, if it had been any other time, it would've been either too soon or too late." 

He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Sam. Again. But Jess is dead. Yellow Eyes was responsible."

* * *

Sam listened, trying to comprehend what Dean told him. He wasn't surprised that he and Dad had kept fighting, but that Dad had let him go. For a law degree. Somehow, it was ridiculous.

"Jeez. You know how that sounds, right? The demon that killed Mom and Dad and is after me killed my girlfriend, and all I can remember is that she baked cookies for me." Sam shook his head, willing the rising panic down. "I wish it was me losing my mind, but this is really happening, right?"

He didn't need Dean's answer. As much of a dick his brother could be sometimes, there were things even Dean wouldn't joke about. "If you hadn't gotten me out," Sam swallowed, "would the demon would have killed me, too?"

Focusing on how Dean said he wanted nothing but Sam, a warm feeling spread in Sam's belly. "I can't believe I spent four years without you," he admitted softly. "Right now, it's like I wouldn't be able to be without you for as much as four hours. What happened to us, Dean... Maybe I _wanted_ to forget the time when I was on my own..."

* * *

"'Baking cookies.' Dude, what is that, a euphemism? Most people would say 'playing hide the salami'. Just don't use one pertaining to pie, please. You'll scar me for life." Fine, that was crude, but the tension in the room was too much; Dean resorted to wisecracks to break it.

Pausing long enough to see Sam staring at him blankly, Dean shrugged and moved on with a sigh. "Losing our minds or not is something we have to sort out a lot, man," he stated, as much to himself as to Sam. "Like with 'did you love her?', only you would know the answer to that, if you wanted to forget the last ten years or not. I'll tell you that the years after we stopped with each other were mostly unbearable. You didn't do much besides study, fight with Dad, and hunt – grudgingly. My way of dealing with it was drink, get in fights, hustle, yeah I did some weed and other shit, and more or less turned into a slut. That had to be hard for you to watch." At the time, since Sam rarely confronted him, he'd assumed the kid had moved past it, hated him, or both. Based on what he knew now, he could only imagine how hurt Sam must have been. 

If Sam needed to, they'd talk about those desert-dry years again, sore for lack of affection, lack of touch, soul-sucking torture. But at the moment, there was a possible source of intel. "Since Yellow-Eyes sicced Meg on you now, I don't think he'd have killed you in California, whether I was there or not. We're still trying to figure out what it is he wants with you. His endgame. Maybe," the idea took hold harder, and Dean chewed on his lower lip, "maybe Meg left some thoughts behind, in your head...? Can you like, search? If there's anything, best try while it's fresh. It might give you some answers." 

* * *

Although the situation wasn't funny, Sam laughed at Dean's remarks. " _Dude,_ " he replied, "seriously, cookies is all I can remember. You can relax, no pies. Although..." he gave his brother a doubtful look before bursting into giggles again, "maybe the pies just haven't returned to me yet."

Sam turned serious again. "I've had a couple memories flashing up in my mind, so I'd say more will return. Let's deal with my past later when it's back and focus on what to do next. I've no idea how to 'search' for something Meg left behind, so unless you know how to hypnotize me or some other psycho crap, I don't think that'll work. Oh, and no, there isn't anything I remember from being possessed other than... what I've already told you."

It wasn't quite the truth. The image of himself being held down and a group of strangers doing _that_... Somehow, Sam knew it had happened while he was possessed. Or maybe it was wishful thinking, but he was sure that Dean would know if it had happened before the demon got to him. It was, however, not a topic he planned to elaborate on, not now that he'd finally gotten Dean's inquisitive mind off it.

* * *

Hearing Sam laugh, really laugh, which he did it too rarely, warmed Dean all over, and he found himself chuckling. The contrast from just minutes ago, when Sam had been distressed to the point of flipping out, was huge. He seemed relaxed and easy in this moment, mouth curving up and dimples flashing. Dean didn't want to ruin all that by going back to the previous topic. If Sam said he didn't have any of the demon's memories, then he didn't. Right? 

The stickier issue of where or when that other flashback had come from returned to chew at him, though. "Look, you're probably right and you'll be able to remember everything soon. No doubt it'll change your perspective, when all those years and everything come back. Maybe Bobby knows hypnosis, and if not, I'm sure he has a connection who would; I don't. None of that psycho crap for me," he echoed Sam's choice of phrase. 

Wistful, Dean mused, "You'll remember our real first time, too. I... I wanted this to be good, so good for you. Dunno what came over me. To be so... desperate. Sure you're okay? I might have some of Charlie's ointment yet. For your hole." His ear tips tingled from knowing he was the reason Sam would need it, and yet he had to swallow drool over the thought of touching there again. 

Scanning Sam's nude form, the signs of rough sex all over him – dried cum flaking all over his six-pack, little bruises sprinkled on his hips and neck, hair a rat's nest, lingering flush on his neck and chest – Dean left it at, "If and when you remember who hurt you, I want names, Sam. Seriously. You got it?"

* * *

And there went Sam's hope that Dean would let _that_ topic rest. He sighed. "I got it. But Dean, I can't remember any faces. It's vague at best, and I'm not even sure it's real. Maybe..." Sam laughed angrily. "I hope that isn't a clue Meg left behind for me to find. Seriously, as much as I want my memories back, I wouldn't mind wiping that particular one out. And if you consider asking Bobby to hypnotize me for details on that, forget it."

Sam's expression softened. "I know you wouldn't suggest it. Sorry. It's just... I'm kinda messed up. I wish I could remember our real first time – although this was a real first, too, you know, and spectacular." He smiled. "I guess I'm the only guy who got his cherry popped twice. Now, I might be a little sore..." Sam shifted his butt on the mattress and winced. "Yep, sore. So, who's Charlie and what's the secret about his ointment? I get that it's for – or, against – sore holes, but does it contain a classified ingredient that will keep you and me from getting horny again when you apply it?" Sam grinned.

* * *

"No, I won't make you do that, unless you volunteer. Sam, I'm not like Dad. None of this 'for the greater good', 'ends justify the means' shit or keeping secrets. We're equals in this. Sometimes we take turns watching out for each other, taking the lead. The only way we try any psycho crap is if you decide you want to."

Dean had to laugh over Sam's last question. "Nothing besides having done it so many times neither of us could get it up again, and maybe not even that, is going to prevent horniness," he grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "I'll pop your cherry every day, man, if that gets you off." 

It seemed like he'd already explained to Sam who Charlie was, but it hadn't exactly been under the best circumstances. "Charlie... The doctor who saved your life and for sure your arm, last fall." Inching closer to his brother, Dean laid his hand over the bullet-wound-scarred bicep. The rough warmth of the shiny-red tissue still surprised him a little. It looked alien against the long stretches of perfect tanned skin. "He's with Ellen, works out of the Roadhouse. They run a small medical clinic, I guess, for mostly hunters, from the back room. Not sure what the secret ingredient is; all I know is that it soothes and numbs like, right now." 

In his mind's eye, Dean was in the other motel room, after the other first time, applying the stuff to Sam's upturned, stretched, reddened, thrice-fucked hole. His dick twitched, thickened, and perked up. Gruffly, he asked, "Do you need some now?" 

* * *

"Then you've changed," Sam replied, sounding blunter than he'd intended. "I mean, last I remember you always did what Dad told you. Greater good and all. I'm glad you've changed." He smiled weakly.

Then Dean explained who Charlie was and Sam groaned. "Yeah, Charlie, sorry. You mentioned that before, right? I seem to keep losing track all the time today." His eyes followed Dean's hand to the scar and he winced. "That looks... as if I don't want to remember it, maybe? This Charlie must deserve the credit, but I'd bet half of the saving job was you getting me there. Dean, one day I'll ask you to tell me more, but right now..."

Sam didn't miss the sudden hitch in his brother's breathing, nor the faint pink blush of his cheeks. "Yes, I may need _some_ now," he whispered as he leaned closer. "But maybe I'm not talking about the ointment..."

* * *

"We spent our lives under his rule, me from when I was four, on; you, till you went to California. Dad's dead," Dean stated bluntly, "and we don't have to obey him any longer. We make our own way." 

The day Sam got shot and the ensuing clusterfuck made for a grim telling, beyond the end result. Dean gladly skipped over that story. Maybe he wouldn't have to revisit it, if Sam remembered on his own. And anyway, when his brother dropped his voice to a whisper to let him know he _needed some_ , thoughts of anything but the here and now flew far away. "I'll give you what you need. All you gotta do is ask." 

Taking the sharply pointed chin in his hand to direct Sam's face, Dean leaned in closer. He parted his lips, which tingled, took in Sam's unique scent through his nose and mouth; from before, the air was still thick with sex. The rush of blood to his groin told Dean they might add to it soon. So drawn to his brother's body and his unconscious if overwhelming call for Dean's, he moved in and straddled Sam's lap, pressing close. 

Their kiss sent delicious shivery shocks through his guts, and lower. He'd cum so much already, but Dean's balls filled again, his dick rising hard against Sam's belly. Every little dip of his tongue into Sam's mouth, the curl of the counter-offer, had him trembling, and he wrapped his arms tight around his lover. "Sammy... " he rasped, butting his hips forward. "Baby please... whatever you want. Tell me. Or better yet, show me." 

* * *

Dean didn't hesitate to give Sam a short reply and end the discussion by kissing him. Apparently, he was thinking along the same lines as Sam, which made Sam grin. "I may be a fourteen-year-old in a twenty-four-year-old body, but you're as horny as when you were eighteen." His grin widened. "I like that. And you." Suddenly serious, Sam said, "More than that. Dean, I... love you."

"Whatever I want... Dean," Sam gasped as his blood fled downward again, "There's something I want. But I dunno if you... The day we fought... one of the last things I remember is licking you. Down there. You came like..." He shuddered and moaned at the memory. "And then you said you never wanted that again. Is it okay... I'd like to... do _that_. Dean...?"

* * *

"My libido never let up, not yet," Dean smirked when Sam stopped kissing him long enough to comment about it. He could still feel the ghost of Sam's tongue stroking against the inner surfaces of his palate, his lips slick with their combined spit. "Some people would say it's a curse." 

Sam made his choice, said the halting words, and Dean felt his mouth go dry, his lungs burning like every ounce of air was crushed out. "That was yesterday for you, too. Day before," he corrected himself. "I–" All the things they'd done, they hadn't done that. Dean had never asked, and if Sam thought about it, he'd never said. 

Yeah, Dean could picture it, how it must have been in the back of the Impala that day, himself utterly defenseless and writhing like a bitch in heat, practically chasing Sam's face with his ass, and Sam manhandling him, stuffing his nose up under Dean's balls to get at him deeper. In the present, Dean's hand shot between them to his crotch. He yanked his sac down hard, it would've been over, two previous orgasms or not. 

Turning to the side, Dean crawled off Sam's lap, knelt, lowered his head, and spread his knees. He kept the hand around his balls, ringing the cords. The strength for two words was all he had: "Do it." 

* * *

"Yesterday or ten years ago, Dean..." Sam had to swallow the saliva that was flooding his mouth at the prospect of rimming his brother, "that was the hottest thing ever. You... you gave yourself over to me and let me make you lose it like I've never seen before – and I'd seen a few spectacular things with you, us." 

He wasn't sure if Dean was even listening. His brother was staring at him, apparently speechless, and clearly remembering the event. Not in the way Sam had feared, though: Dean wasn't withdrawing, wasn't yelling that Sam would never, ever do that again to him. No, judging from the way Dean was torturing his balls, he had a hard time – Sam groaned inwardly at the pun – to keep from losing it here and now, before Sam had a chance to taste him.

Seeing Dean crawl was a strange sight, but Sam's heart beat faster, awed by the deep trust his brother graced him with. He was sure that nobody had ever before seen Dean kneeling before them. Well, okay, Dean wasn't facing Sam, but still. Then, Dean spread his knees and pressed out, "Do it," and Sam was lost, too.

"Yeah," he whispered hoarsely as he knelt behind Dean and placed butterfly kisses on his butt cheeks. Lean and strong at the same time, Dean was the epitome of male beauty, and Sam took a moment to admire his brother's gluteal muscles. They were perfect, just like everything else in Dean.

Sam continued kissing Dean's body and made his way to the top of the cleft, and then started licking and kissing slowly downward. The last time – the first time he remembered, but he had a feeling that they hadn't repeated this – he'd started out from Dean's balls, and now he took his time to explore the other side of the crack, teasing Dean with his lips and tongue. They'd both cum twice already, and although he was sure that his brother was getting desperate again, Sam would go slow and make this good, determined to give Dean a gift he'd never again forget.

* * *

Sam, behind him, oh god, kissed his ass – literally, but Dean wasn't laughing. He panted hard, lips parted and nostrils flared, as Sam began to work him. That one time all those years ago, Sam had surprised him by licking him like that, but that had been nothing compared to the shock of how it utterly undid him. 

"NNNnnngh!" Warm, wet and so soft, lips and tongue descended into the top of his crack, lavishing every millimeter. It was unfamiliar, yet it was something that Dean craved that he had lived his entire life without. Tight little thrusts, the best he could do to keep from humping the bed, rocked Dean's hips. Nor could he bear to lose contact with that incredible tongue, the gentle rasp to the sensitive nerve endings increasing as Sam inched lower, and held himself back from flailing for that reason. Tiny licks and kisses anointed him; stray trickles of saliva dripped downwards. 

Gasping with every breath, Dean arched his back, shoving backwards. "God, Sam... feels good, so goddamn good when you do me like that... Gonna nut myself on your tongue. Please, please don't stop! Put your hands on me..." He would die if it ended. Before, he'd been mute in the face of Sam's offer and the foreknowledge of what he'd turn into, and now Dean couldn't stop the stream of dirty talk, any more than he could stop the pre-come blurting from his slit despite his vise-grip on his balls. 

"Fucking awesome, Sammy, so good but you gotta gotta keep going... want it, want you to eat my ass out..." His voice crept higher, like it wasn't even him. He'd have blushed to hear the pleading tone, if he wasn't already flushed red. Sam twirled his tongue closer to the hole, and Dean's over-wrought balls tried to spasm, but he yanked them down again, just in time, groaning with the pain and pleasure. Untouched, his dick felt like a fire-brand, tucked tight to his belly with a string of constant drool escaping. 

Was this really him? His shoulders and back were ready to cramp from the tension, his thighs burned, his body working, trying to get his needy hole to his brother's lips. He got a thousand licks, gentle kisses, but he needed more. "Ah! Ah! There...!" His movement paid off for a second as Sam's silky lower lip brushed across his rim... "Oh yeah, oh yeah, fuck Sammy yes!"

* * *

Although he knew there must have been really incredible moments during the past decade, Sam wasn't sure if anything could compete with what he was doing now.

Dean was laid out before him like a feast. Myriads of tiny freckles covered the strong back that tapered into perfect hips and continued with butt cheeks that fit exactly into Sam's hands. Dean was moaning under him as Sam took his time to sample the soft skin covering firm muscle, lick and kiss the dimples, watch his brother squirm, and listen to him moaning and egging Sam on.

"Wanna eat you out, Dean," Sam rasped and licked a broad, wet trail down the valley between the quivering cheeks. "And I'm _gonna_ eat you out." He kissed the tiny pucker, reveling in the high-pitched keen he got in response. "All of you," Sam announced as he decided to have mercy and concentrated on the fluttering rim that tightened instinctively every time Sam touched it with the tip of his tongue.

The knowledge that he could make his brother lose his composure so spectacularly was a power rush, to his aching dick and balls even more than to his head. For a moment, Sam wondered how Dean would have reacted if he'd suggested to put not his tongue but his cock there, but as it was, he was surprised enough that Dean had agreed to it at all. It was a 180-degree flip to what he remembered – not the way Dean enjoyed it but that he trusted Sam enough to let him lick his hole. There was always a possibility that Dean might change his mind later, so Sam promised himself he'd make this so mind-blowing that Dean would want it again and again.

After teasing the tiny pucker for a seemingly endless time, Sam pulled Dean's cheeks apart with his hands and licked another broad stripe over the hole, then placed the tip of his tongue in the center and poked at it with minute thrusts. Dean squirmed against him and tried to push back, but Sam held him down and continued at a slow and languid pace. He had all day to make his brother lose his mind from need and pleasure.

"I think you like this," he grinned, deliberately interrupting his ministrations.

* * *

He should have known it, because hadn't Dean taught it to Sam, himself? With his huge hands clamped around Dean's butt to hold him still, his brother teased him to within an inch of his sanity. More little kisses, the flat of his tongue up Dean's crack, just not the screaming, tremoring center of him, no matter how he begged. Every time Dean thought he'd finally get the attention he so desperately needed, where he needed it, Sam would detour away from his hole and start all over.

Dean was at the point of letting go of his balls and spraying the bed below him just to end the agony, when Sam's tongue arrived _there_ , poking minutely inside. A wordless long, high-pitch moan ripped from his chest, and he tried to push back but Sam held him motionless again. There'd be bruises on him for sure. Then it began: his cheeks pulled apart for ultimate exposure, Dean getting rimmed, Dean getting eaten out, having his asshole tongued to death or heaven by his lover, to whom he would give anything or take anything. 

As Sam swirled the slick borders and stabbed inside repeatedly with the pointed tip of his tongue, Dean stopped moving, stopped fighting. Other than he was shaking like an aspen leaf, his entire consciousness shut down to focus on the tongue-fucking ravishment Sam gave. Though he'd had some awareness before of the extra juices he spewed when he came, seemingly deep from within and more than his balls alone could produce, right now, Dean felt like his prostate was swelling up inside him, not like the bad old-man-can't-pee way, but the young, healthy, super-horny male about to spurt buckets of jizz, sort of way. Eyes blinking owlishly, stupid-slow, Dean grunted loss when Sam stopped to tell him he liked him this way. 

Again, with the not-him voice, thin and strained. "What way? Insane? So good I'm losing my mind, Sam, why'd yah stop?" The sobbing edge to the tone was way more embarrassing than being ass up at Sam's mercy, 'cuz hell, Dean wanted that! "I need to cum so bad, Sam... I'm so full, it hurts, I need you..." How could he tell Sam he needed help to get all that fluid squeezed out of him, it was beyond weird. Sam always came and came, so much; maybe that was why, since almost exclusively Dean fucked him and did the service unknowingly, one thrust at a time. 

Making a supreme effort, Dean raised his head enough to look at Sam, back there by his ass, flushed and messy-haired, his sharp-featured face shiny with saliva and god knows what... "Sammy... need your dick in me. Don't deny me, man... Open me up and fuck me!" 


	4. Chapter 4

Dizzy with the sounds Dean emitted and the texture under his tongue, Sam didn't get it at first. His brother was babbling pretty much incoherently, begging Sam to get on with it, telling him that he _must_ cum, now, Dean's request that Sam open him up and fuck him almost slipped past Sam.

Almost.

"D-Dean," Sam moaned. It came out sounding more like 'Thean' because he was suddenly drooling, his salivary glands acting in union with his balls, his prostate, his whatever. Not sure he'd heard right or if it had been wishful thinking on his part, Sam had to ask for confirmation. One little step further and he feared he might be too far gone to stop.

"You... you sure you want that? Me in you?" Sam had intended to ask, but his needy lower brain functions took hold of his speech center. "Want to fuck you, Dean. Gonna make you feel so good..."

* * *

Sam had put his mouth back to work by the time Dean managed to get his wishes into the open. Mid-lick, comprehension hit him, and Sam's head came up, eyes widening. How he wanted confirmation when Dean had just told him he'd give him _everything_... was it consideration or fear? Sam had never been afraid of sex before – he'd spent months, years hounding Dean for it, starting when he was in the throes of puberty. 

"I meant it... I'm sure," Dean panted. He made a grab for the bottle of lube and clutched it greedily. "Want you in me... Want you to make love to me." That turn of phrase might be better. Even now, Dean preferred expletives in reference to sex but to Sam, it was love. Well, it was to Dean, too, now. But he had to make sure it wasn't anything less than consensual, and maybe that was what Sam was feeling, too. 

"I mean, unless you don't want to," he whispered. "You can say no." And to Dean, that option was as much a gift as his body. 

* * *

For a moment, Sam felt his head was close to bursting with conflicting memories – memories? Dean telling him, _"Can't bend over, not for anyone. Used goods. Broken."_ Was that the same Dean Sam had under him now, twitching with need to have Sam in him? Had they done this before? There was another vague memory. Had Dean told him so today? Or was it wishful thinking? 

Dean interrupted the confusing thoughts by offering Sam an out, reminding him that he could always say no.

"I... want," he said slowly. "But I also need – needed – to know that you really want this. And the same goes for you," Sam added haltingly. "No means no, at any time. And I may..." he blushed although Dean would probably not notice, "need your advice," he whispered. "I mean, you've been prepping me, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. So, sorry if this sounds unerotic," he blushed more, "but I go one, two, three fingers, lots of lube, condom, and then... _do... it?"_

* * *

Dean blinked again. Sam, asking for advice? On the logistics of how to penetrate him? Whatever had been done to him, Dean was going to get to the bottom of it and kick some ass, only... not right now. He also had to suppress a giggle, because... really??!

He chalked it up to nerves. "Just like that, Sam. C'mon, you've been fingering yourself and have had me doing it to you almost as long as you've been able to jack off. Not much different. One, two, three. And since you're so blessed, maybe four." He wiggled, arched a bit. His hole felt weird, wet and dripping with Sam's saliva, cooling now that they were talking. Was this what women felt like, other than that their own bodies produced the lubrication naturally? Experimentally, Dean clenched and released, and again. Apparently the flex of those muscles made for good friction on the inside and he groaned in surprise as his dick jumped and blurted another sticky string. 

Besides that Sam was hung like a bull, there was also yet another precaution. Trying futilely not to drool, Dean rasped, "I've made you cum, screaming your head off, just from touching your sweet spot. All it takes is a finger, so be careful." He had to stop for air again. "I've waited this long. Don't wanna lose it till you do, when you take me. So, uh, try to not touch that till you're up in me." He closed his eyes and dropped his head. Hell, he could've come from the second Sam touched him. Surviving the prep was just the next challenge. 

* * *

It was clear that Dean's referral to Sam's size was supposed to be a compliment, but Sam wasn't sure if he should wish he was less well-endowed. It was a significant... improvement? over what he'd been like ten years ago, but right now he mainly saw the potential of inflicting pain. That was the last thing he wanted, and he felt a little torn between his own insecurity and Dean's instructions.

But there was no doubt that Dean really, _really_ wanted this, and who was Sam to not understand it? Having felt his brother moving inside him had been... Sam didn't think there was a word in any language of the world to express the bliss, and he wanted to return it to Dean a thousandfold.

So, one, two, three, four. Slick. Avoid Dean's prostate. Then, condom, and go.

Sensing that Dean was nervous despite insisting on Sam fucking him, Sam decided to count his tongue as 'one' and take his time with the preparations. He grinned to himself: from what he knew about this Dean who wasn't shy to voice his desires, it wouldn't take long before Dean would order him to add a finger or two. Sam was ready for it.

He bent down again and licked over his brother's hole, then plunged his tongue in as deep as he could.

* * *

Something hot and slick and mobile pushed its way into him. At first it was just touch, and then it started to open him up. Dean had been ready... and not. He'd thought he'd relaxed. Maybe his memory was skipping a few things, too, because what it felt like, being invaded by that alien thing... the slight friction across the rarely-touched nerves of his rim was all it took: his nostrils flared as Dean took in air, and screamed like a banshee.

"Oh oh oh oh uuunngggh!!" His hips weren't so much trying to thrust against Sam's relentless grasp as shivering. "Please Sammy please more..." Dean didn't even know what he was begging for, other than that he needed this, more and more of this, deeper, wider, harder. 

* * *

When Dean started to howl, another memory flash came to Sam's mind, where his and Dean's current roles were exchanged. Sam was shaking and sweating while Dean's tongue stabbed and licked inside him. If not for the instinctive grab for his balls, Sam would have cum right then – and Dean would have been disappointed. No, Sam was going to hold back until he'd made his brother lose it with Sam buried deep in his ass.

He withdrew his tongue and squirted a generous helping of lube on his fingers. "I'm here for you, Dean," he soothed while attempting to keep the slippery stuff on his digits and not let it drip on the mattress. "Gonna give you more... _now_..." Sam slid his index finger into his brother's hole while he finished his sentence. He'd already felt the heat with his tongue tip before, but now Sam gasped as his finger was almost pulled in by the smooth and incredibly hot walls, with the ring muscle clenching in rhythm with Dean's grunts.

"You sure you don't want me to play with your sweet spot?" Sam asked teasingly. Actually, he had no idea how to find his brother's prostate, and he was taking Dean's warning seriously, but he couldn't resist winding him up. He worked his finger in and out of Dean's body in a fucking motion and wasn't really surprised when Dean started moving along with it, moaning every time Sam pushed into him.

Slowly, the tense muscle relaxed and Dean's moves turned more determined, trying to get Sam's finger deeper. "Time for another one," Sam concluded. Pulling out briefly and ignoring the complaining grunt, he added more lube and slipped two fingers in. Dean groaned at the slightly rougher intrusion but seemed to adjust immediately, and it didn't take long before he was pushing back, fucking himself on Sam's fingers, wailing and keening.

Sam's throat was dry, and he coughed before pressing out in a hoarse, raspy voice, "Let me know when you're ready for more."

* * *

After the tongue came a finger, then two, pushing far up inside. Dean's ring muscle started to burn and he blew out quick little breaths, riding it out. Sam was using enough lube that it made vaguely disgusting squelching noises and dripped down the insides of his thighs, not that he cared. Not when Sam was being so, so good to him.

Damn, that boy had long digits! Dean froze, scared that Sam would nudge his prostate by accident and he wouldn't be able to hold back. Obviously his brother was in no hurry, and it was for his benefit, but Dean's impatience was hitting astronomical proportions. 

_Let me know when you're ready for more._ Couldn't Sam see how bad he needed more – everything? Gooseflesh rose all over Dean so even his hairs were erect, from the coarse ones on his legs to the fine golden ones toward the pale insides of his arms. His nipples stung almost as much as the component parts at his groin, as if they too would let go and leak his arousal any second. 

"Screw prep! I need the dick," he ground out. 

* * *

Sam thought his ears as well as his erection were close to exploding. Never before had he even imagined that Dean would beg to be fucked, and now his brother was making a convincing case that his life depended on Sam's dick inside him. Time to give up on the teasing. Sam knew what Dean felt like; he'd been there not long ago. However, the muscle clenching around Sam's index and middle finger was way too tight to even think of replacing his finger with his cock: as Dean had said, he was big.

"I'll give you dick, but I'm not gonna hurt you," Sam tried to reassure his brother, not sure how to proceed. Dean definitely needed more stretching, this much was clear even to an inexperienced lover like Sam. He had an idea, and he hoped that it would take Dean's mind of the prepping until he was ready. On second thought, Sam hoped it would take _his_ mind off as well, however unlikely that was.

"I need to loosen you up just a tiny little bit more," Sam announced as he withdrew his fingers. More lube, and he wiggled both his thumbs into the tight hole, fighting his instincts and going slow instead of rough and fast. Again, it took a few long seconds before Dean relaxed, but it wasn't enough yet. 

"Relax," Sam soothed. "Go floppy. Remember the stupid song from the eighties? 'Relax when you wanna cum...'" he sang out of tune, and at the same time began to pull his brother open with his thumbs. "Almost there..."

* * *

"Cheesy bitch! Ow, my bleeding ears!!" Dean wheezed, cringing over Sam's version of the 80's dance hit. A yelp of laughter escaped him, or maybe a yelp of surprise as Sam's thick thumbs invaded his asshole and pulled apart in tiny tugs. "Relax, my ass! You were still in diapers when that song came out." He snorted over his choice of words. "Where'd you learn...? Let me guess: Retro night at Stanford." 

Meanwhile, he was doing his best to do as he was told, but it wasn't easy. He wanted it too damn much, was too keyed up. Sam's instruction to 'go floppy' was good in theory; reality, not so much. Dean kept his knees under him but let go of the tension in his neck and shoulders, closing his eyes. He let out his breath, determined to breathe easily, at least till he was speared by the entirety of his brother's gorgeous long cock.

With his sight taken away, the other senses took over, especially the squishy, slithery noises of Sam working his hole open, little by little, and then the feel of things. Pushing aside the thought that only Sam had ever been careful with him like this, Dean concentrated on the sensations of fingertips, and more up inside him. It was like Sam waited for him relax enough to accept more before he'd push. Then there'd be more of him, more digits or deeper. And especially, the burning stretch of his ring muscle faded, flared, faded again every time Dean's body opened up a little more. The inner glide and the stuffed-full feeling was Dean's reward.

But he wasn't anywhere near as full as he needed to be. Tears dripped from the corners of Dean's eyes onto his hand, where he'd flattened it under the side of his face. He hadn't realized he was – not crying, just overwhelmed by the intensity and being so close for so long. 

He was mindless, voiceless, every hitching movement controlled by Sam. None of his demands and pleas had worked. Though his balls were still gripped to within an inch of permanent blueness in his fist, Dean wasn't sure he could cum. There was a line, and he was past it now. He'd have to either let it go asleep in a wet dream or on Sam's dick from it rubbing his sweet spot, the irresistible trigger, or he wouldn't even be able to whack off now.

There were the two thumbs, with enough room between with all that stretching for another, had to be. "'S enough, Sam. I don't care if hurts. It'll be you – that's all that matters." 

* * *

Dean told Sam it was enough – and that he didn't care if it hurt. The statement did nothing to reassure Sam, and he felt his erection flagging. His brother was so aroused, so needy, but Sam's insecurity grew by the second.

In his world, the closest he'd come to 'fucking' Dean was when he'd licked his hole a couple of 'days' back – when he'd been fourteen. Dean had cum spectacularly. Seconds later, he'd yelled at Sam to never do that again, and here he was begging for Sam's dick in the very place he never wanted to have touched again. It didn't help that Sam had never even been with a girl before, let alone penetrated a man. He knew he was big, big enough to hurt his brother. _Who'd been hurt before. By another man. Because Dad had sold Dean to a stranger for money for ammo._

Between his musings and Dean's begging, Sam was at a total loss what to do. Then he remembered how he'd begged for Dean to take him when he was fourteen. Apparently, Dean's refusal had wrecked their relationship for a long time. If Sam repeated what Dean had done back then, their love might not survive it.

"OK," he said quietly. Sam wasn't fully hard, but he managed to fumble a condom onto his dick and pour more lube over it. "I'm going slow and you'll tell me if you need a break."

He knelt up behind his brother and swallowed as he placed the tip of his erection against the wet hole and pushed. At first, nothing happened, so Sam pressed harder – and gasped when the fat head slipped behind the ring muscle. 

It was tight, so incredibly tight and hot! Sam's eyes started to water. He'd had his tongue and fingers in there, but nothing could have prepared him for this. It was so much more than the physical sensation, although that alone was almost enough to make him lose his mind. No, the fact that Dean trusted him enough to let him into his body was overwhelming him.

"Oh god, I love you, Dean!" Sam sobbed as his hips made slow, involuntary rocking motions that guided him deeper.

* * *

The few seconds it took for Sam to roll on a condom and coat it with lube were too much. Not having the familiar, beloved fingers and mouth on him and in him, the snapping noises of the rubber, his ass-up position, it all served to flash near-repressed memories across his eyes. Not now! Dean didn't want that past ugliness in bed with them, not when he's spent the last what seemed like hours begging for this like a whore...

Not like Sam, who'd never been with another man, didn't womanize like Dean had in self-typical futility. Whatever Meg had made Sam do, it hadn't been with his permission. All his misery had never led him down the paths of self-destructive behavior that Dean called home. Nor had he been asked to do the kinds of things Dean had. One of them had been ruined for the cause, and that was enough – Dean had fought like hell, in a way, to keep Sam from having that sort of depravity shoved down his throat. But having done so didn't make him any more worthy.

The first touch of the slick crown almost made him call a stop – he didn't deserve Sam's love, or his body. Not with what he'd seen and done. Yet Dean loved Sam with every unspoiled part of himself still in his possession. So he remained there, silent, as his brother awkwardly shoved at him a couple times, and managed to slip inside, because he knew how fucking good and right and special it was, when he topped Sam. Guiding his brother from the first flickers of arousal through to whatever gasping, howling shooting-all-over-each-other climaxes was love, too, and for once, he needed to be taken there. Taken. 

Once Sam was in, he was in motion, totally unable to help himself – Dean knew the feeling, if he was even half as tempting as Sam. He got what he'd asked for, alright. His sphincter spasmed trying to stretch around its girth, and there was more and more to fill him up and it burned like hell. Moaning, Dean tried again to relax his muscles. By the time Sam had worked himself in so that his balls smacked against the back Dean's, he was chanting 'I love you' in time to his thrusts, hands holding Dean's hips for leverage. Again with the flashbacks, those two brothers from Jersey being the most difficult because they'd been the first to make him cum from having his prostate touched... From the angle and repetition... 

Which is what he wanted! But not just the mechanics, the _being with_ Sam. For his brother to hold him and touch him all over. With that thought, he was able to accept Sam fully, all of him. Dean pushed himself upright with Sam still in him, humping away. Now the push-pull sang across his butt, centered on the point of entrance. 

"Do me this way..." He pushed his shoulders back against Sam's solid chest, reached backward with both hands and found Sam's upper thighs, running his fingers through the hairs, all the way up to the lower curves of his smooth ass cheeks. It was better, with all that warm contact. "Keep going, baby. Need you to wrap your arms around me." Inside, Sam's erection nudged his prostate and Dean squeaked, a gush of fluid pressed out, almost like cum. Arching, he let his body beg for more.

"God, Sam, what you do to me... What you make me feel..." Dean whispered. He couldn't say it aloud; his cheeks were burning hot. 

* * *

"Dean, Dean!" Sam felt the tears running down his face as he pushed deeper and deeper. When he thought he could not become any closer to Dean, his brother pressed back with his whole body, so that they were joined not only by their sex but Sam's chest against Dean's back. "God, Dean!"

Thrusting in, pulling out, the friction and heat had already rendered his brain to mush. Sam couldn't stop sobbing against Dean's neck, repeating how much he loved him. Yes, his dick was involved in an incredible fashion, but what really tore through Sam's heart was the love he felt for his brother, the desire to become one with Dean. This was almost the closest their bodies could be, and still it wasn't enough. Sam needed to make Dean experience what Dean had made him feel a few minutes ago. 

"I love you so fucking much," he gasped as he sped up his thrusts, feeling Dean jolt and whimper every time he hit _that_ spot.

"Close," he pressed out when the pressure in his body threatened to overwhelm him. "Want... Need... With you... God, please, Dean..." He let go of Dean's hips and wrapped one arm around them while reaching for his brother's erection and starting to clumsily stroke it in time with his thrusts. "Need you to let go... for me... Please, Dean..."

* * *

"I... can't, I can't," Dean sobbed. He was turned on beyond belief, in pain from how swollen-hard his junk remained. Feeling Sam moving against his body, it did something for his wounded psyche no other experience ever could. Their combined scents, the sweaty friction of his skin, and when it came, the familiar long fingers curling around his cock, tugging him closer and closer to the elusive thing just beyond him drove him almost to the breaking point.

Sam curved his body around Dean's back, his chin tucked over his shoulder. Right next to his ear, the repeated "I love you, I love you..." tickled the shell in shivery-hot breaths. Bolts of love and lust sliced through his belly, down to his groin. His brain mostly offline, Dean could recognize the jerkier, less coordinated motions of Sam's lower body and hand that meant he was about to lose it. And Dean needed to be with him in that – he just had to. 

"I love you, too, Sammy... Love you so much!" Once again he concentrated on the sensations, allowing his body to take it all, not only the deep dicking his filthy mouth had offered Sam, the pressure against his sweet spot, again and again, moving not away from it but into it. Strangled moans worked their way out of his mouth, and at last, whatever blocked him gave way and he was gone. A shot of cream pumped from his balls and from inside, the white froth spattering to the covers in front to him, then more and more, every one a blast of built-up conflict that he could finally let go of. 

"Gnnaaah! Nnnngh! Cum, Sam...!" Please let his brother be there, too, to release, and fill him with the heat of it if not the full sticky-wet load this time...!

* * *

When Dean replied _"I... can't, I can't,"_ Sam was close to stopping, pulling out. He didn't know what was wrong, but first he, Sam, had almost not be able to give in to Dean's begging, and now that he finally had, Dean 'couldn't' – all Sam could think of was that they needed to talk, but Dean would never agree to that. 

Unable to come to a decision, Sam continued thrusting, but his heart wasn't in it any longer. Still, eventually, Dean gave out strangled moans and spilled over Sam's hand. 

Sam felt empty, but he followed the motions, looking forward to the moment it would be over and he could pull out. Then, Dean ordered, begged him to cum, too, and the full wave of despair crashed over him. Debating with himself for a moment if he could fake it, Sam's dick made the decision for him by going limp.

"I... can't, I can't," he echoed Dean's earlier words in a broken voice. "I'm sorry, Dean, I'm so sorry..."

* * *

But it never came, that rush of warmth, the throbbing pulses, Sam grabbing on to him or biting or yelling his release, none of the things Dean had finally managed to let go, anticipating. As his orgasm faded, Dean heard Sam quietly repeating 'I can't'. He stopped moving and pulled out... no, he went soft and slipped free. 

"What... what is it, Sam? What's wrong?" Then it hit him, and Dean hissed in misery. He turned, and saw the tears seeping out from under Sam's eyelids, spangling his lashes before raining down over his sharp cheekbones. All the time Dean had been egging him on, trying to get Sam to take him and finally he had... It had been against his will and he never wanted that. No, Dean hadn't held him down kicking and fighting and ripped his hole with no prep or lube, but what he had done still amounted to... No, not that word, please! Yet he couldn't deny it. 

"Oh my god... I-I-I... I forced you, didn't I? You look 24 and I remember how you begged for it but... I was right after all, I never should have..." And he whispered, "you're only fourteen. All the things I thought I saved you from, now I'm the one who..." Dean's words, breath, heart, everything caught and he froze. He wanted to comfort Sam just as he always had, but how could he even consider touching him now? "I am so sorry!" 

Putting his back to Sam, so at least he wouldn't have to look at his face, Dean slumped over at the edge of the bed and felt hot tears fall from his eyes, too. At the moment, he was probably the most hideous creature in the world, to Sam. He didn't even deserve to feel sorry for himself like that! What had he done? What if now Sam never remembered anything and he was stuck inside a foreign body that he never caught up with, in time? 

"I'll go," he decided, making a dash for clothes. "You call Bobby, I'm sure he'll let you stay as long as you need. You never have to see me again." Other than some day, if he was still alive, Sam would track him down and deal with him. A bullet, a knife, his bare hands... Now _that_ would be what Dean deserved. He stuffed one leg into his jeans, then the other. "I promise that when you come for me, when you're ready, I'll go quietly." For only a second, he met Sam's blown eyes, and the suffering there was such that Dean had to look away. "I'm sorry," he repeated. 

* * *

"Wha-what?" It took Sam a moment, but then Dean's words seared through his brain and heart.

_"I was right after all, I never should have... you're only fourteen."_

Hadn't Dean said that not making love to Sam had been the biggest mistake in his life? Apparently, Dean had rechanged his mind again, probably while Sam was – no, not was, _had tried_ – making love to him. He didn't understand why, nor did he understand what Dean was telling him except that he was leaving. Sam didn't want him to, but ten years ago, all his begging had not made Dean reconsider.

"Don't go," he whispered, hating himself for sounding so broken, and sure that his brother wouldn't listen.

* * *

"I... I have to! You deserve better than a brother who forces you to have sex with him against your will," Dean barked out a mirthless noise, somewhere between a laugh, a snort, and a cry of pain. "I'm not going to subject you to that. I mean, not again," he amended. 

Pulling on his tee-shirt, Dean slid his feet into his shoes. With shaking hands, he used the bottom of the shirt to wipe his face. He was going to lose it. Would probably crash his car into a ditch within five miles. It wasn't fair! He had to abandon the person he loved, that he was in love with, because he'd done him so wrong. And Sam... losing his father, now his older brother, thanks to him. How could he – Dean – have been such a colossally stupid, selfish piece of shit? 

He heard the protest. His heart clutched at it like a lifeline; his brain cursed his weakness. Conflict tore at him. There was ingrained family loyalty, there was their bond, their love – that between grown men – but now there was also what he'd just done. From nearly as far back as he could remember, it had been trained into him that he couldn't just abandon Sam. How was he supposed to protect Sam from him now? Well, unless Sam wanted him gone and that would be logical. Dean knelt down by the bed, the one that reeked of their sex, decorated with his cursed seed, beyond the reach of his naked, huddled brother's long arms. 

"Sam," he gritted out, head bowed, "I heard what you said: 'Don't go'. But... I swear, I will if you can't stand it. Any time. All you have to do is say the word. There's no excuse for making you... You should cut off my balls. Forgive me, if not now, then someday."

* * *

Dean went on about forcing Sam to have sex with him, that Sam had better cut his, Dean's, balls off, but Sam's brain wasn't really registering it.

_"Used goods. Broken."_

It was all too much. All he knew was that he loved Dean and couldn't live without him. Dad was gone, and now Dean was about to leave... 

Then again, maybe it was the best thing Dean could do. Sam froze as he suddenly saw himself with the gun in his hand, aiming at his brother. The sound of the shot was ringing in his ears as Dean keeled over and fell off the pier...

Sam's headache flared up again and he knew he was going to be sick. "I love you," he pressed out just before the first splash of vomit left his mouth, and then he was heaving on the bed, fearing nothing more than that when he'd regained his breath, he'd be alone.

* * *

Dean stared in horror at Sam. In the face of his near-rant, Sam didn't even respond to all the things he'd gone on about, but proclaimed his love. Then his tear-tracked face turned pasty white, then greenish. Dean knew what was about to happen, that kid and his nervous stomach! And it did – Sam leaned over and puked on the bed. 

"Oh for fuck's sake," Dean cursed, jumping to his feet. He couldn't just watch this. His little brother was sick – something he ate, a bug, nerves, disgust, hatred, who knew? If Dean didn't intervene, though, he knew how it would go – there'd be vomit from one end of the room to the other. He waited out the first and second wave, not daring to touch. Years of hunting monsters, which tended to reek like death, not to mention the stink of actual dead things they tended to come into contact with, had given Dean a strong stomach. This was pretty nasty, though, and he had to fight to keep his gorge down.

When the first onslaught seemed to be over, he hauled Sam up on wobbly feet and half-carried him to the bathroom. No, he shouldn't have his hands on that gorgeous, nude body, no matter how urgent and unsexy the reason – he had no right. But it couldn't be helped. Dean couldn't just leave Sam in that condition in a strange place to fend for himself. If he wanted them, his brother's clothes were there, and he'd be able to clean up, eventually. 

Dean lowered the long limbs and the rest of his heavy sibling, dead weight, really, to the floor in front of the toilet. "I'm gonna clean up your mess... If you get sick again, do it in there," he gestured. Before returning to the foul-smelling room, he ran a glass of water and held it out in front of Sam's face. Man, he was out of it; his eyes weren't focusing, and his mouth hung slack. He made no move to take the glass. Sighing, Dean got close enough to reach, but not to crowd Sam's space. "Sammy, drink," he coaxed, holding the rim of the glass to the open lips.

* * *

"Shit, shit, shit," Sam groaned when the first waves of sickness slowly ebbed down. Dean was already half-carrying and half-dragging him to the bathroom. Surprisingly, they made it there without another surge. Drool kept gathering in his mouth and Sam spit in the toilet, waiting for his stomach to turn over again. 

Dean told him that he was going to clean the bed – which Sam acknowledged with a nod, not daring to speak – and that he'd be better off being sick in the bathroom the next time. It made Sam want to snort, but he didn't trust his gag reflex. He was so tired and his head hurt, and he really wished Dad would... No, wait, Dad was dead, and Sam wasn't car sick...

"Huh?"

Dean held a glass at his lips and told him to drink. Sam obeyed and the cool water soothed his raw throat a little. Thankfully, it didn't start another round of heaving. His brain seemed a little clearer, too. 

"I'm twenty-four, not fourteen," Sam said, more to himself than to his brother. "I whacked my head – _you_ whacked my head after I shot you. We had fantastic sex, more fantastic sex, and then, um, not so fantastic, maybe."

Looking up at his brother and trying to decide whether Dean was pissed off or amused, Sam announced, "I love you. And we need to talk. But I should clean up and get dressed first."

* * *

Again, with the 'I love you' instead of whatever screaming and cursing Sam could have directed at Dean. Sometimes, their lives seemed like a long series of actual life, interspersed with just as many long series of flashbacks. Like now. Sam naked on white tiles, himself nearly dead of destructive emotions. The dreaded pronouncement, "We need to talk" was no surprise. 

Dean wondered what they could possibly talk about. He'd laid it all out there for Sam, but as usual his brother didn't listen. The oversimplification made him feel guilty, but hell, he had been half a second from bolting like a startled rabbit just to spare Sam any more of his company, and he was still uneasy about staying. 

After making sure Sam had a few sips of water, Dean have a non-committal grunt in answer to most of Sam's speech. "Yeah, put your clothes on. I'll be out there when you're ready." Dammit, that sounded like they were going to fuck again, and that couldn't be farther from any intentions Dean had. Cringing, Dean clarified, hardly believing it was him saying the words, "Ready to talk, I mean." He could only hope that Sam would change his mind or be too worn out. 

"Call me if... If you're sick again or need something." Again, it sounded too much like innuendo. They'd become so comfortable with that on a day-to-day basis, Dean never guarded his tongue around Sam anymore. Well, he'd better start. Smelly or not, Dean was grateful to escape into the room. 

Now this was definitely a replay of the night they'd fled the graveyard, Sam shot in the arm, at least as far as the puke mess. Urgh! Dean turned his face away while he stripped the soiled polyester covers off the bed. They must have been scotch-guarded as nothing got through more than one layer. Folding the cleanest part to the outside, he rolled it all up tight and tossed the bundle into the farthest corner, behind the door. Now what? Because he needed to keep tabs on Sam, Dean left the TV off. All was quiet in the bathroom. Not knowing what else to do, he sat gingerly on the bed, hissed, lay back and rolled onto his side. God, he was so tired; it was hitting him like a brick wall.

_Cassie pulled him upright, mounted him, told him she loved him; the next minute, to get the hell out of her life, dark eyes flashing anger. Mid-coitus and breathless, Jessica looked up into Sam's face as he took her as gently as he knew how, said she loved him, flew up to the ceiling and screamed and bled and burned. Sam was under Dean; it wasn't gentle at all, but he blinked shyly and said the words, too, as Dean poured himself, his love, into Sam. Their bed opened into a black, bottomless void. Sam fell while Dean remained suspended, flipped on his back with his limbs pulling from their sockets, spread-eagled. There was no one to have him, no one to claim him, no one ever would. There was no such thing as love, he didn't know what it meant, though it seemed like he used to. When the pain started, he screamed..._

Dean jerked awake, with no idea as to how long he'd been out. He automatically reached for his gun, but it wasn't on him. And Sam, where was he? The remembrance of the last few hours hit him like the worst kick in the jewels ever. Maybe his brother had run off again. Or what if... Getting stiffly to his feet, Dean hesitated, squared his shoulders in the direction of the bathroom, and went to investigate.

* * *

Sam wanted to protest when Dean left the bathroom, but when he opened his mouth, it took all his energy to fight down the next wave of nausea. When it was over, he was soaked in cold sweat, dizzy, and – alone. Still, it wasn't hopeless: Dean had announced he'd be ready to talk when Sam was done throwing up his guts.

Clueless as to how much time had passed, Sam eventually got up from the bathroom floor. The image he met in the mirror looked like something the cat – or the monster of the day – had dragged in. His mouth tasted as if something had crawled up in it and died – weeks ago. There wasn't a toothbrush, and he felt too dizzy to shower, so Sam decided to get dressed and postpone cleaning. Form the looks of it, Dean wasn't too keen to be near him anyway, so personal hygiene could wait.

Half-way to the bedroom – Sam couldn't believe that even the two steps from the sink to the door turned into such an ordeal – he heard a blood-curdling scream. His break into a run was stopped by the sudden dizziness. 

Clutching at the door frame, he came face to face with his brother, who looked as if he'd just been through ten rounds with a sasquatch.

"Dean, what the hell...? Are you okay?"

* * *

"Wha-!?" Sam stepped into the doorway just as Dean did so, from the other direction, and Dean pulled up short of smacking his face into his brother's chin. Definitely worse for the wear, Sam was still pale and sweaty, and he swayed unsteadily despite both hands wrapped tightly around the wooden borders. Dressed but unshowered, he didn't exactly smell sweet but then the same could he said for Dean, and that weird dream hadn't helped. About to ask if he was alright, Dean stopped himself from that, too, because it was obvious Sam wasn't but at least he'd stopped throwing up. For now. Hopefully. 

"Do you need... um..." Why was Sam asking if Dean was okay? He wasn't sick, unless one counted sick in the head. Unable to find a suitable reply or to meet the hazel eyes checking him over as if he'd just been though a fight or hunt, Dean just shrugged and said, "Not really, but never mind. Let's get you situated. Done praying to the porcelain god?" 

This was going to be awkward as fuck. How Sam could even bear to let Dean touch him to help him was beyond thought, but he needed assistance. Turning to the side, Dean offered, "You can lean on me. You know, just to get to the room." Crap, they only had one bed and the place was enough of a dump there weren't even chairs. The escape the Impala represented was looking more appealing by the second. 

_"We had fantastic sex, more fantastic sex, and then, um, not so fantastic, maybe."_ Well, Sam had already said _that_ , so besides damning Dean to hell and cursing his name, which he deserved, he didn't think it could get much worse. 

Fantastic sex? It had been, until... And he hadn't been able to even tell... Not even when he'd been really young, after he'd started with girls but before he and Sam... Dean prided himself on never having misread a situation. If a few girls had cried under him, well, it had been from release like they'd never known before. That wasn't even ego speaking, only simple fact. As Dean waited for Sam to sling an arm around him or refuse or whatever, he found himself trembling.

* * *

If Sam had expected his brother to dodge the question how he felt, he wasn't disappointed. Being ready to 'talk' must refer only to Sam's issues, then. With the room spinning around him, however, Sam wasn't sure he was up to a talk. Or, he rephrased in his mind, he was pretty sue that he was _not_ up to a talk.

"Yeah, done praying," he said, his voice hoarse and scratchy. Not very appealing for a talk either. When Dean offered to help Sam to the room, he accepted gratefully, but tried to lean on him as little as he could as his brother was injured, too, and trembling from effort, pain, or exhaustion. 

Dean intended to walk Sam to the bed, but Sam shook his head, gritting his teeth when it made his head hurt and spin even more. "No, I think we should return to Bobby's. Do you mind?" He didn't think Dean would fight him. Sam needed to sleep – whatever he'd done under Meg hadn't included much rest – and Dean looked as if sleep was a good idea for him, too. The place reeked, and they weren't really safe here, not if the super demon was after Sam.

"I can manage it to the car if you can." 

* * *

"Oh. Right." Of course Sam wouldn't want to be here with Dean, alone. At the scene of the crime. Plus, it stank. "Sure, Sam. Rain check on that talk." 

A strange mix of relief and regret filled Dean as they continued to the door, and outside, Sam leaning on him while, he could tell, trying not to. They would probably sleep better at Bobby's, each in their own beds, under his wards and protective spells. That was, if he didn't figure out what they'd been doing and toss them out over it. At the motel, Dean had been so careless he hadn't even put down salt, to his chagrin. 

Dean got Sam into the passenger side, slammed the door, and decided to check the room. Neither of them had left any personal effects in the open. But, on the ratty carpet next to the bed, there was the strip of condoms minus what they'd used, and the little bottle of lube, which was open on its side, a little pool of it making a darker spot. Dean paused, not sure he wanted to touch. Finally, after staring a full minute, he gathered the supplies and hid them as best he could in his hand. Once in the car, he shoved them under his seat, and peeled out onto the two-lane highway. 

* * *

Sam had meant to kiss Dean and tell him again how much he loved him. Since Dean had already slammed the passenger door shut when Sam's sluggish brain came through, Sam told the window how much he loved his brother. He felt more than stupid, but decided that thinking was highly overrated in any case.

When Dean returned, he shoved something under his seat and started the Impala. With the highway right next to the motel and Bobby's place only a few minutes away, Sam knew there wasn't much time to talk. Still, he had to try and explain what was on his mind. Dean looked tense and unhappy. Maybe it was because his older self had changed, but Sam needed to find out if something was wrong between them.

"Dean, sorry," he said. "I wish... I'm sorry for disappointing you. It's... I'm tired, is all." Sam put his hand on his brother's thigh and smiled. "Looking forward to the next time already, but I really need to catch some shut-eye first..." As if he had to prove his words, he yawned.

"Do you think... that maybe I could sleep with you? Share a bed like we used to? At least, that's how we could sell it to Bobby, that I'm scared and need to have you close?"

Coming to think of it, Sam _was_ scared, of pretty much everything he could think of, but most of all to wake up and find his brother gone.

"Please."

* * *

"But Sam... I- I forced you! How could you want to even be in the same room, much less share a bed?" Dean decided that point blank was going to have to do. In minutes, they'd be back at Bobby's. He went on, "You couldn't finish, and don't give me that bullshit about how you're tired. I guess you've figured out where you are now, kinda, in 2007, but back in that room you were a kid yet and I made you do something you weren't ready for." 

Only, if he remembered it now, at his present age... it was so damned confusing! "Sam, I'll do whatever I can to make it up to you. But are you sure you want that? I love you," he choked it out, "and I want to be with you. Always. What if I... violate your trust again, and you can't tell me no?" Dean cut his eyes sideways, hands tight on the wheel. 

Yeah, he'd told Sam he'd go, but he didn't really want to. It would kill him. Life wouldn't be worth living without his brother next to him. "Sammy... You're my brother, and you're all I've got. Okay." 

* * *

Sam's mind was spinning with too many thoughts. "Dean..." he croaked, "it's... too much... everything..." More flashes appeared before his inner eye, at an accelerating speed that brought along a dizziness he'd never felt before. He saw himself...

_... making love to a girl who turned into a werewolf..._

_... swearing to Dean that he wouldn't die..._

_... standing dissolved in tears next to a hospital bed with a clinically dead Dean..._

_... telling a blonde girl that Dean wasn't interested in her except for considering her a younger but annoying little sister, then forcing a kiss upon her..._

_...Dad, dead..._

_... shooting Dean..._

_... pressing his thumbs into a shot wound in Dean's shoulder, ignoring his brother's agonized screams..._

One hand on the Impala's door, Sam clawed his other hand in Dean's thigh. "You... my brother... You didn't force me. I... Meg..."

Not sure how much time he had left before the insanity took over, Sam choked out, unconsciously mirroring Dean's words, "You're all I've got. Dean.. I need you to hold me... Don't let go..."

He clutched at Dean's thigh for dear life. "I trust you. I trust you," Sam repeated, like a mantra. "You'd never hurt me, Dean, I trust you. I need you to stay with me."

* * *

Sam's few disconnected words were followed by him going glassy-eyed, head in his hands, unresponsive. Was it one of his visions? This wasn't a good time and place. Dean sped up, then turned onto the road into the salvage yard in a spray of loose gravel. 

A big, hot hand grabbed Dean's leg hard enough to make him flinch, though mostly in surprise that Sam would voluntarily touch him. At the same time, in a voice that sounded like his world was ending, he asked Dean to hold him, repeating again and again how he trusted him. Not a vision, then, but the kid had to be out of his mind, Dean thought. Still, he'd deny Sam nothing, not when it was his fault right now that Sam was in distress. 

Somewhere in the back of Dean's mind, he questioned himself over that, now that they had a little distance. Sam was a hunter; he was tough. Even at fourteen, he didn't cry easily, and he had wanted Dean with a fierceness that he'd really ever encountered again. When women wanted him, it was he who sought out the ones who were both attractive and willing, and usually they were happy to let him do most of the work and be gone in the morning. With men, well, when he'd been young, he figured it was just that they were sick in the head. It also had a lot to do with power and control. Not Sam, though. His ever-physical, touchy-feely, fuck-you-through-the-nearest-flat-surface love was just that: love. It didn't make sense that Dean fucking him was all good – and it had been, there was not one tiny iota of non-consensual there, but Dean letting go of his own inhibitions for once and asking for the same had made Sam, even the younger version, who'd dropped a few hints about doing what they had back in the day, freak out like that. 

Yeah, Meg had had him under her control and god knew exactly what he'd been up to, but the retelling of their history plus sex shouldn't have broken Sam. There had to be more that he hadn't revealed yet. And if he trusted Dean as he claimed to, then he needed to tell him what was at the root of all this. Dean pulled onto Bobby's property and parked off the road near the front of the junkyard.

He couldn't help but hesitate, but after a few seconds, Dean turned to Sam, gently removing his fingers' bruising grasp on his thigh. Sam looked at him, wild-eyed as if he were going to run or start throwing punches, so Dean moved quickly and slid over across the seat, wrapping his arms around his brother and pulling him against his chest. "I've got you," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm here... hold on to me." He squeezed tighter, and found he needed the comfort just as much. It had been a hell of a day, even by their standards, and it wasn't over yet. Not really even noticing he did it, Dean pressed a few kisses to the side of Sam's neck before he buried his face in his shoulder. "I love you, Sammy."

* * *

The images kept coming, flooding, overwhelming.

_... lying on the bed, eating Jess's cookie, waiting for her to come out of the shower, adjusting himself in happy anticipation of their lovemaking..._

_... Jess on the ceiling, blood everywhere, dripping on his forehead..._

_... himself screaming, fighting tooth and nail against Dean pulling him from the burning building..._

_... Dean holding him down with his body while digging for a bullet in his upper arm..._

Dean, tugging Sam's hand loose from the death grip he had on his brother's thigh. Dean, wrapping his arms around his brother and pulling him against his chest. Dean, whispering soothingly: "I've got you." "I'm here... hold on to me." And, most of all, "I love you, Sammy."

"Dean," Sam snuffled, "not sure what's real... except you..."

* * *

Something weird was happening; Sam's body kept jerking as if someone were tugging him along. He was still lost in some memory or vision. It was hard to not be part of that, to not share it with Sam and not know what he was going through. Dean didn't move, other than to hug Sam closer, rocking a little and stroking the curls at the back of his neck, which were wet with sweat. "Yeah I'm real, and you're real. Come back to me, Sam." 

God he shouldn't, because he'd already had more than his share and this wasn't sexual, but the nearness of Sam's body, the warmth and size and dammit, his little brother's dependence on him right now had him twitching in his boxers again. Determined to ignore it, Dean eventually asked, "We're at Bobby's – do you wanna go in? I'll tell him that you're... that whatever Meg did with you has you sick, he won't question me being stuck to you for a while."

* * *

"Dean, shit, I'm remembering things..." Sam groaned. He shook his head in a vain attempt to chase the flood of images away, but the move gained him nothing but another flare of his headache.

"Yeah, let's go in, I wanna lay down for a while..." He laughed humorlessly. "Tell Bobby that whatever Meg did to me has me sick – no kidding. She's on top of my hunting list, just so you know."

Sam pulled away a little from Dean so he still had his brother's arms on him but could meet Dean's eyes. "Thanks, man. I needed that." His voice was still shaking. "Might need it again, but right now I think I'm gonna be okay for a few minutes. Bed?"

* * *

"Yeah, bed. We both need the rest. And you need a toothbrush," Dean grimaced. Though he didn't mind sitting in the car holding Sam, the sun was going down, and Bobby would wonder what the hell they were doing out there for so long. Baby was a lot of things but silent she was not; their host was sure to have heard them return. 

Reluctantly, Dean let go of Sam and slid back behind the wheel, hand on the door handle. "I'll get our stuff. You worry about getting yourself inside without falling over. We need to check our wounds." He didn't think the site on his upper arm had reopened again, but now that he was no longer running on adrenaline and hormones, it hurt like a bitch, throbbing in time to his heartbeat. It kind of overshadowed anything that might be happening below the waist, which was probably just as well.

They had also left in a hurry, leaving Bobby to deal with the shambles his place was left in thanks to Meg. Dean owed him a lot, including Sam's life. For sure, the older hunter would want an explanation of why they'd taken off, and Sam's headspace after the demon had been cast out, for his own records. Dean would do his best to delay that conversation till the next day. He was ready to conk out hard, too, and didn't trust himself to edit his responses enough to avoid the true nature of his and Sam's reunion. 

Hell, he wasn't even sure of the true nature. They'd made love – that was fact – and had spent time reaffirming their bond, with Dean doing his best to get Sam up to speed on the past ten years. Then it had gone to hell. Dean's guts churned over how he could have been so wrong in reading Sam, and after, more or less threatened to leave him. Not just threatened. He'd have done it. Only Sam being violently sick and losing his tenuous hold on the here-and-now had prevented it. A sigh of remorse escaping him, Dean knew Sam was right and they were going to have to talk about that, too, but it was another conversation he hoped he could postpone. 

With a nod to Sam, Dean got out of the car, grabbed their bags out of the trunk, and shut it. "You need any help?" he directed at his brother. 

* * *

"Toothbrush. Shower. Your shoulder," Sam ticked off on his fingers. "And then... sleep." 

_You and me, in bed, together_ was what he wanted, but given Dean's earlier reaction Sam thought it would be better not to spell it out. He felt strangely distanced, as if none of this was real. The onslaught of the returning memories had calmed down, but Sam's head was still pounding when he got out of the car.

"I think I can manage without your help," he said once he found that he could stay on his feet without clutching at the Impala. "If you could remain close I won't complain, though," he added with a nervous chuckle. "You won't have to explain to Bobby that I shouldn't be on my own," Sam grimaced. "If I look anywhere as bad as I feel, he won't ask any questions."

He yawned. "Maybe I should look at your shoulder as long as I can keep my eyes open," Sam tried to joke. "I can brush my teeth without watching, but I won't mess with your arm."

Then, the image of himself shooting his brother was suddenly there again. "Shit, Dean, I'm so fucking sorry for hurting you!"

* * *

"Look, man, I know it wasn't you, you don't have to apologize. But you're forgiven." Dean came up around to Sam's right side, and slowed down to walk next to him up to the house. It took some time to get up to the porch; Bobby was in the doorway, watching their progress, and Dean called out ahead of them.

"Hey, sorry to have run off. Sam, he had kind of a melt-down, it took a while to talk him down." Bobby gave him the eyebrow. "Whatever Meg did while she was riding him, it didn't have a good effect. Can't you smell the puke-breath?" he joked, hoping to draw Bobby's attention away from the other scents all over them. Dean's skin itched like the devil right then, both from dried cum and under Bobby's scrutiny. "He's had a memory lapse, from the possession or from the knock on the head, I dunno. It's coming back slowly. I need my arm checked and then, if it's alright with you for us to bunk here for the night, we're gonna crash." Aware he was talking too much, Dean shut up. 

"Yeah, you two can stay, looks like Sam's little love tap to the melon wasn't exactly good for his health." There was just a small sarcastic edge to his voice, but Dean blew it off. If he paid it heed, he'd give himself away. "I've got some questions for you before you make like a tree. Alight? Consider it payment in kind," the hunter finished, nodding at the staircase that led to the upstairs bedrooms. 

"Thanks, Bobby," Dan answered, nodding. He was about to take his shirt off to have Sam look at his wound when he paused. The scent. No. He'd be alright till morning. 

"C'mon," he said to his brother, "can you make it up the stairs?"

* * *

Sam stared at the mess in Bobby's place when they entered. He – _Meg_ – had done a thorough job on wreaking havoc. "Oh crap, Bobby, I'm so sorry," he said. To Sam, it sounded hollow: how could he feel so sorry for something his mind told him wasn't his fault? 

Then another thought struck him. He still couldn't remember how Meg had gotten to – into – him. Had he even attempted to fight her? Surely, an experienced hunter like he considered himself, should have been able to fight her off!

Dean's voice cut through the panic that started growing again. 

"Yeah," Sam said, "I think I can manage the stairs... You know," he continued, fighting a hysterical giggle, "first I lost my memory, and now that it's returning, it feels as if I'm losing my mind."

* * *

"Dude, what you really need is a good night's sleep," Dean cut in before Sam could start babbling and work himself up. A full-scale panic attack was not what any of them needed. "Bet you'll be fine in the morning. Bobby, thank you. I'm putting him to bed now." 


	5. Chapter 5

They'd kept extra clothes and things at Bobby's place, in one of the upstairs bedrooms, had since they were kids and visiting became a semi-regular thing. Dean was sure there were at least basic toiletries and stuff to sleep in, stashed in the old chest-of-drawers. It was only one flight up, but Sam was looking more asleep on his feet by the minute. They might be in for a long night – both of them tended to have bad dreams when they were under stress, and that was most of the time. Only holding each other through the night kept the nightmares at bay. 

One step at a time, Dean hauled his brother up the staircase. Sam leaned on him more and more heavily. By the time they reached the second floor, they were both panting from the exertion, but Dean didn't delay in guiding Sam to the room that had a double bed, the one he usually slept in. Maybe the familiar slant of the roof, the ivories, greens, and golds in the stained-glass window would soothe him. "There... Sit down, I'll find you something to sleep in," he murmured. The dresser was three feet away and he didn't want to move even that far from Sam, but he made himself be practical and fished out toothbrushes, toothpaste, clean tees and boxers. 

Glancing over, he saw Sam leaning against the headboard, eyes closed. A wave of concern and affection washed over him, and he just wanted to be in bed with his brother. Maybe the best he could do was to get their shoes off. "Sammy, you with me?" Returning, Dean cupped Sam's cheek tilting his head up. 

* * *

"What I really need is you," Sam protested weakly, but let himself be helped upstairs, continuing to cling to his brother. Thankfully, Dean immediately steered them to his room. It had the larger bed, and Dean put him down on it, then started rummaging through drawers, explaining to Sam that he'd find him clothes for the night.

Sam closed his eyes, feeling safe in the knowledge that Dean would look after him. He stank, though, and shuddered at the thought of sleeping without cleaning up first. Neither would Dean enjoy the proximity. At the very least, Sam needed to brush his teeth and wash – or scrape, more likely by now – the crusted semen off his belly and chest.

Just when Dean asked if Sam was still with him, another memory returned, a nice one this time. Well, maybe not all nice, but Sam tried to concentrate on the nice part. "I'm with you," he said in a soft, slightly slurred voice. "If you wanna stay with me, I should clean up first, though. Dean," Sam asked, "would you bathe me? Like, after when I was shot?"

* * *

"Um, o-okay." Dean's breath hitched at the mention of that. _The bath_. That event would live in his memory as one of the most erotic of his life. They'd been injured in a graveyard salt-and-burn; he'd been desperate just to get Sam somewhere safe, somewhere to take care of the wound that seemed to grow more grievous by the hour. Simply because Sam had still been covered in dirt, blood, vomit and sweat and was already too weak to stand up through a shower, Dean had chosen to clean him up in the motel's bathtub. Then he'd popped wood – kind of like now, and who wouldn't? – over Sam's naked body and they'd wound up in bed. Not full-on sex, but pretty much everything else. For one thing, he'd put Sam on his hands and knees and rimmed him for the first time in their adult lives. It made his hands tremble, thinking of his brother bent over and spread for him, while Dean worked the most sensitive part of his body with his fingers and tongue, Sam begging with his sleek undulations and cries. 

Being as old as it was, Bobby's house contained a huge, claw-footed tub, easily three times bigger than the shallower, more modern one at the motel, which barely fit Sam alone. Yeah, he would bathe Sam. And himself. At the same time. "Let's get to it, we reek, and I'm all itchy." Damn his boner. Determined to pay no attention it, Dean shrugged sheepishly at Sam, muttered, "Ignore it," and went to his side again, to help him up, and if needed, into the bathroom.

* * *

Dean's reaction brought Sam to another memory, of what had happened after that bath. What he'd had in mind until then had been how Dean had helped him clean up, but now Sam's blood rushed fiercely downward.

"No way," he shook his head and groaned when everything started spinning again. "I'm so not going to ignore it." Dean had sat on the bed next to Sam to help him up, and Sam reached out to place his hand tentatively on the thick bulge behind Dean's zipper. "I want it," he whispered and grinned. "And I bet I can have it, right? But maybe I should still clean my teeth first. Do you think we can hold out that long?"

* * *

"Oh, fuck..." Dean laid his hand over Sam's, which was warm and searching over his thudding erection. "Yeah, you can have it – it's yours." 

After the misunderstanding at the motel room, he knew refusing Sam this would be the killing stroke, and he didn't want to. Impossibly, he needed it again, so bad. At the combined touch, his hips pushed forward, and Dean pressed their hands down, against the distinct ridge behind his fly. "Gonna give you whatever you want, Sammy," he husked out, already breathing hard. 

Somehow, they managed to stagger to the bathroom, Dean grabbing the bundle of their spare clothes and so on that he'd set out on the dresser on the way by. Thank god, there'd been condoms in there. First he made sure Sam wasn't going to fall over; then he plugged the drain and started the water running. No way could he _not_ notice the reaction in Sam's pants, and he couldn't keep his hands off, either. Running his palm over the bulge, feeling Sam's pulse pounding in his cock, Dean nearly dropped to his knees. But that would have to wait. "Toothbrush?" he grinned up into Sam's dazed face. 

* * *

"Dean!" Shit, when had his voice become so husky? But Sam needed to speak up. "Dean," he started again. "Whatever you think you did wrong earlier... you didn't do anything wrong. We'll talk... but not now. Unless you want to?"

Dean fiddled with the bathtub and Sam struggled with the toothbrush. He was so incredibly tired, but the thought of immersing himself in the warm tub together with his brother gave him the energy to finish cleaning his teeth.

There was, however, one thing he had to check before they might make a mistake, wound-care-wise. "How's your shoulder doing?"

* * *

"Talk later, check my shoulder later, too." With the amount of endorphins flooding into his bloodstream right now, Dean couldn't feel a thing. Well, nothing unpleasant. While Sam brushed his teeth, he stripped out of his clothes, freeing his hard dick from the too-tight jeans and exposing every surface of his body to the air and Sam's inspection. And he wanted that, his brother's eyes and hands on him.

"Are you 24 or 14 right now?" he asked. Back at the motel, Sam had been mumbling things about his age, and past events, as if trying to re-acclimate himself to the current present day, but Dean had no way of knowing which was real for Sam at the moment. It probably wouldn't make much difference to how he handled his brother, but it was better to know, up front. 

"Anyway, you should get naked, unless you planned on taking a bath in your clothes." He smirked again and reached out to undo Sam's belt, button, and zipper, sliding one hand down inside the open fly to give his balls a gentle squeeze. After making an appreciative growl, he didn't linger long. "C'mon... Bath..." 

* * *

"Nuuhhh..." Sam squeezed his eyes shut and moaned when Dean's hand knowingly applied just the right amount of pressure to his balls. "Make that fourteen when it comes to sexual need," he panted. "As for the rest of me, I'm not sure. There are some things I remember now, but I've no idea if it's all back. However," he grinned, "you're doing a nice job of distracting me. So, yes, bath. Now."

Since Dean had already unzipped him, Sam made short work of undressing. He was still feeling a little dizzy, but decided to ignore it. It could, by now, be easily explained by each blood cell leaving his brain and finding a place in his rapidly swelling dick. Dean was hard, too, and Sam reached out to touch his brother's proud erection, suddenly breaking into giggles. "Since you were offering me support," he winked, "now, _that_ is definitely something I'm going to hold on to."

* * *

Dean grinned, taking a step backwards, then another. His dick had surged at Sam's light touch, and maybe he was being kind of being a knob for leading his brother with the evidence of his sexuality, but hey, it worked. Though he was exhausted and in rough shape, the presence of naked Sam, three or four inches taller, ripped with dense muscle, fully erect now with his cock jutting upwards from the dark hair at his groin, twin sac heavy and plump below, reverse-mirrored each of Dean's steps, till they reached the tub. 

"Can't wait to get my hands on you, all over you." All of that bare skin, slick with soapy water... The thought of it had him salivating so hard he had to swallow a mouthful of drool. He held out his hand to steady Sam while he brought one foot over the rim of the big old tub, then the other. The sides were higher than either of their knees, and so deep when Sam sunk down into the water, it was up to his breastbone. Dean leaned him back and tried to put Sam at ease, one palm, circling his chest, stroking the soft, smooth skin. He found one flat little nipple and pinched the center bud. "Love that, those sexy little nips. And I love you. Missed you, you know." 

Looking away as his emotions threatened to well up through his eyes, Dean found the soap. "Alright, time to wash the dirty boy." He smirked, and trailed the bar down Sam's chest, into the water to his crotch. The thick curve of his dick slid against the inside of Dean's wrist. "Starting with this." 

Only, Dean bypassed it and went for his balls again. "There we go... Let me wash your 'boys', Sam." Rolling the tender glands, Dean used both hands and the soap, till his brother's knees came up and spread against the porcelain to each side of him. Sam's eyes were glued to his face, and Dean looked back, seeing love and need in the hazel-green depths. He could probably make Sam cum from this, and someday he'd tease him like that, but he hadn't finished his job of washing Sam and most of his body remained. 

"Like that? More later – that was just a taste." Pulling back his hands, if reluctantly, Dean noticed he was grinding his dick against the hard surface he was kneeling in front of, and made himself stop. Picking up a wash cloth, he soaped it up and rubbed at Sam's arm, plastering on a semi-innocent look. 

* * *

"Mmhhh... Nnnhh..." Sam blinked and he closed his eyes, focusing on the wonderful sensations spreading from his chest straight to his groin. Dean's hands, how Sam loved them! The strong fingers had callused tips, and the way they were touching Sam's over-sensitized nipples made him shiver and moan with delight. Dean provided infinite tenderness and then just the right amount of rough pressure. If the gentle strokes interspersed with coarse pinches were designed to drive Sam crazy, they did their job so well that he feared he might cum from having his nipples played with. Dean would never shut up about Sam having such a 'girly' reaction, so Sam fought it down, but he was so close!

And then... _Let me wash your 'boys', Sam._

Sam's eyes flicked open as he felt – and _saw_ – his dick let out a string of drool into the warm water. It looked gross, but there were also Dean's hands cupping his swollen balls, massaging them down, and...

...starting to wash Sam's – arm? What the...?

"Dean? _Dean!"_ Sam wasn't quite sure whether he was begging or whining, but he was very sure that he didn't want his _arm_ washed. 

"Come on, man, my arm? Really?"

* * *

"Oh... So he wants fun first, wash later. Okay then..." Dean still made sure to drag the washcloth up to Sam's shoulder, avoiding the circular burn mark above the inside of his wrist, as it he were going to keep torturing him. "Did you just pee in the bath, Sammy? Naughty!" Dean knew he hadn't, that it was a little squirt of pre-come, but he wanted to see how his brother would explain it. All the 'male' aspects to Sam excited the hell out of him, and talking about his libido ramped it up till he was buzzing like he was half drunk. 

Dean rose to his feet, standing there a second till the head-rush went away. His dick bobbed, slit and head wet with tiny beads of slick. Before climbing in facing Sam, Dean let him have a good look. Before his brother's eyes, he wasn't shy, and the shameless display of himself for his lover just got him off harder, or would eventually. The water was nice and hot, almost up to his neck as he plunked his butt down between the long, spread legs. The soap made a decent lather. Still grinning, Dean picked up Sam's left calf and lifted it out of the water. The dark hair dripped all over and he soaped it up. Moving to the long, slender foot, he hoped he wasn't about to get kicked. "Between your toes," he warned. Sam had been ticklish as a kid – these days he was usually too controlled to show any such reaction. Jerking away, Sam snorted, eyes darkening when Dean ran a hand all the way up his leg under the water. 

"And this... needs washing..." he almost choked. He gave the tight sac a quick loving cup on his hand, then went lower, tracing the raised seam behind, all the way. There: that little entrance furl, no longer virginal but still perfect for him, and Sam loved being touched there so much. "Should I?" he whispered. 

* * *

"What? No!" Sam blushed deeply crimson at Dean's insinuation that he'd peed in the bath. "That was, um..." He was saved by a memory of their day together in the Impala. "That was _'stuff'_ , remember?" Sam winked.

He forgot all about it when Dean stood before him with his erection jutting out, wet and shiny at the red and hard tip. Unable to take his eyes off it, Sam licked his lips unconsciously and let out a soft gasp. "M-my toes?" he asked, frowning, when Dean slid into the tub, sitting right between Sam's legs. For a moment, he considered if Dean had recently developed a foot fetish, but then he recognized the warning. Sam pulled his feet away with a snort. Of course, it wouldn't do to injure his brother's dick with his uncoordinated moves.

Then, Dean ran a hand up Sam's leg, and Sam's eyes went glassy when his nerve endings fired along his calf, then up the thigh until... Dean sounded as breathless as Sam felt when he suggested that Sam's sac indeed needed washing. Sam held his breath and was about to give an enthusiastic nod when his brother's hand continued down the perineum to the neediest and most intimate part of Sam's body.

Sam whimpered. "Please," he begged softly. "I want you so much!"

* * *

Mindful now that the water was no longer running that their words could carry through the unpredictable spaces, seen and unseen, of the big old house, Dean lowered his voice further. "The 'stuff', huh? Your pre-, your slick, your wetness. Bet you're letting more into the water right now, totally helpless to stop it, just like when it blurts out and runs down your dick. I don't mind. It's sexy as hell." 

Fingertip of his index finger nudging into the outermost border of Sam's hole, Dean stroked across the center, again when Sam's body convulsed. "Shh, be still..." He had to get closer. Scootching across the bottom of the tub toward his brother, Dean lifted Sam's butt one-handed. Made buoyant by the water, Sam's lower body landed in his lap, legs sprawled around Dean's waist. 

"Good, baby," he murmured, still petting Sam's rim, meeting his slanted, heavy-lidded eyes, seeing the need there. "Don't wanna hurt you... Love you too much. Can you cum like this?" He could have, it he'd decided to, reached down, lined his dick up, and pushed into that needy orifice. As wet as they were from bath-water and his own leaking fluids, it would be almost like taking Sam dry and he wouldn't. The boy – the man – was so sensitive, it probably wouldn't take much for him to reach the point of no return. And Dean did have two hands. And a mouth. 

Earlier, Sam's hard-on had raged and spit when his nipple was touched. "Seems I can't keep my hands off your jewels, but there's this, too." So he wouldn't slip and drown them both, Dean spread his knees wide, grabbed the side of the tub one-handed, and then leaned far forward. His pulsing erection slid into the cleft of Sam's ass like it was made to be there, and he groaned, hips bucking once, twice before he could control himself. 

It felt like half the blood in his body was trapped there, angry at the squeeze and yet laden with the chemicals to keep him aroused and steel-hard. Through the water, and now jutting against his belly, Sam's was just as rigid. Dean loved it, loved that his brother got hard for him. That was physical, but they'd been through denial and pain about the true reasons they could be together for real, and it wouldn't have been possible without mutual love. Being in love. Today had proved again that anything could try to take Sam away. Maybe even come close. They hunted monsters and the evil bitches of this world and the lower realms. There was no such thing as safety. 

Desperate to never let Sam go, to save him if the darkness took him again, Dean sought upwards up Sam's chest. He'd forgotten about the few hairs between the otherwise smooth pecs, and he kissed them and the skin below before moving on. The tight little nipple lay just before him, the center nub sticking up, practically quivering; in a fit of instinct, Dean latched on. 

* * *

Sam squirmed when Dean commented that he was helpless to stop letting more slick into the bathwater. It made him feel a little ashamed and at the same time, the embarrassment aroused him. He wondered briefly how that was even possible with Dean's finger so torturously close to his greedy hole, but then Dean lifted his butt up and gained access.

Sam mewled. Oh yes, he could cum like this, from nothing more than his brother caressing and massaging the outer rim of his hole. He was about to tell Dean when Dean spread his knees wide and moved closer, until his erection slid between Sam's ass cheeks. 

"Nuuhh!!!" Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before looking back into Dean's eyes. The moss green irises were almost swallowed by the dark, shining pupils that were wide with desire. He pushed against Dean, aiming to increase the friction on his dick, which was trapped between them, and letting out a small whine when Dean pulled back.

His disappointment didn't last long, however, when Dean's eyes turned from Sam's face to his chest and his brother smiled. Leaning forward, Dean kissed one of Sam's nipples, licked gently around it before clamping down and sucking hard, pulling at the small bud with his teeth. It should have hurt, but instead of pain, Sam only felt the pressure in his balls increase to the boiling point.

"Dean! Dean!" he panted, trying to keep his voice down, but aware that he'd lose the fight against his noises soon. Dean flicked his other nipple with his fingernail before giving it a rough pinch, and Sam cried out as his dick began to pulse. His hole contracted oh-so-sweetly with the onrush of the peak. It was too late to stop it, but Sam wanted his brother to feel every second of it with him.

"Dean... I'm... so fucking close..." Sam ground out through clenched teeth. His head flew back as his whole body tensed and arced. "Gonna... Gonna... _Nnnnuughhh! Dean...!"_

* * *

"Do it, Sam! Come for me." Dean pulled his mouth away for the second it took to hiss the words, then he was back, sucking at the bruised little nipple while punishing the other, pinching and rolling it, while Sam shook and whined and came apart. His body pinned Sam, and though his brother was bigger and could probably throw him across the room, Dean was reeling from the rush of power and sexual energy, feeling the hot pulse of the vein pressing a shallow valley against his happy trail. 

Then Sam froze, everything halted, till he opened his mouth and groaned Dean's name. He was coming, bucking and thrusting and Dean felt the orgasmic tingle through every last nerve in his own body. As best he could, Dean held his brother in place. His knees slipped till they were braced into the rounded edges of the tub's floor; with that small leverage, Dean thrust the best he could, dragging the swollen length of his cock through the crack of Sam's ass. Hotter than the water, Sam's semen flooded between them, quickly lost to the clear liquid surrounding them in a dissipation of sticky, thick white into transparency. He held on, kept worrying Sam's nipple, kept up the slight sawing motion of his hips. "That's right... You cum for me... Let it all out, every drop."

As for himself, Dean's balls were so tight they hurt with delayed need. Hitching little gasps escaped him, tuned to Sam's rhythmic moans. He was so ready, but he wasn't. Maybe from all the sex he'd had in his life, it wasn't quite as easy for Dean to get off, he needed more touch and motion, but then Sam really was something special and Dean would never want him less responsive. And this was about Sam's pleasure right now. Face red and shiny from the heat and exertion, Sam looked wrung out. Done. Grateful for the water's tacit lift of his brother's dead weight, Dean kissed the muscle right above Sam's heart and held him as he shook through his aftermath. 

* * *

The small fraction of Sam's brain that was still online noticed things he'd never perceived before as so arousing. Not only was he turned on by the embarrassment of releasing his juices into the warm water in Bobby's tub, but it also notched his peak up a number or thousand that Dean had him pinned and almost unable to move. His breathing hitched as he slowly and steadily climbed higher and higher, while Dean's lips and fingers on his nipples were sending shock waves of pleasure-pain through his incredibly tightened body. 

His brother's erection against his throbbing hole provided the perfect amount of stimulation, and Sam cried out as he convulsed and his almost untouched cock spewed out the thick white fluid in three or four powerful bursts, followed by smaller ones that still had Sam shaking and whimpering with the strength of his release. Dean kept praising him and spurring him on to give all he had, and Sam did, his body obeying the loving and coaxing voice until he was so empty that he went limp like a dish rag.

"Dean, oh god, Dean," Sam whispered, held upright only by his brother's strong body. "Dean..."

* * *

"I've got you, Sammy... I love you." Dean held him there a while longer, till the muscles in his thighs started to cramp. If not for that, he could've stayed there for a year, awash in Sam's powerful orgasm's afterglow. 

"I suppose we should wash for real," he suggested, slowly shifting so he wouldn't slip and dunk them both. From there, he pulled his legs around so he was seated cross-legged, and reached for the soap. "Turn around, I'll wash your back, and your hair if you want." 

* * *

"I suppose we should," Sam managed to reply. He was still cross-eyed from the incredible intensity of his climax. Although he meanwhile had remembered that he and Dean had shared their bodies for a while now, today had seemed more, different – but maybe he thought that every time they were together. In any event, he felt boneless, and the suggestion of simply laying back and letting Dean wash and take care of him sounded like heaven.

On the other hand, he was more than aware of the hard cylinder of flesh that had, until a few seconds ago, been rubbing along his crack. Dean's erection curved against his belly; the angry purple tip was leaking fluids into the water – maybe not as much as Sam tended to leak, but it was clear that Dean was so hard it must be bordering on painful.

"What about you, though?" Sam whispered as he leaned closer and kissed his brother's collarbone on the uninjured side. He let his hand wander down the well-defined abdominal muscles, not missing Dean's hiss when he inhaled sharply. Sam cupped his hand over his brother's stiff member, rubbing the palm over the slit in a small circular motion while his fingertips caressed the rim of the glans. Sam's thumb stroked up and down the frenulum as he asked, "Are you sure you only want me to continue this _after_ we've washed?"

* * *

Sam sat up, but he had other ideas besides washing. Dean trembled at the press of soft lips against the thin skin over his collarbone – his brother knew his hot spots and had gone right for one. Fingers found his erection under the water. Dean jerked and his dick jumped as well, pushing out a spurt of slick. 

"M-m-maybe you could s-start with Dean Jr.," he stuttered as Sam stared at him keenly while caressing the very edge of the flared crown. Dean gritted his teeth to keep in an urgent moan. They were tended to be noisy during sex, and he was nearly cross-eyed with need, however casual he played it. Where Sam lost it from having his hole played with, Dean's genitals seemed to have their own hyper-sensitive areas, the slit and edge of the ridge being two. His body wanted to flop and rut in reaction to the light touches; it took every ounce of Dean's control to hold back from turning Sam around and taking him right there. 

Sam's curved thumb plugged him, noticeable when another trickle of pre welled up and was held back, making him feel more stuffed then ever. "He... He likes the attention. Wants more. Everything down there's just... Heavy. So stiff and full." He blinked, clearing sweat from his eyes. It was so goddamned perfect, those hands on him, taking care of his needs, so willing. Prickles that preluded climax gathered in his lower body. 

* * *

"Oh yes, I'll start with not-so-little Dean Jr.," Sam whispered as he licked a trail up his brother's neck and nipped at the tendon underneath the salty skin. He tapped his thumb against the slit, convinced he could feel the pressure of leaking fluid as he pushed the tip of his thumb in playfully. "Wish I could fuck your slit with my finger," he said, "and I'll give it a try with my tongue later, but first..."

While Sam's hand on Dean's erection kept caressing the rim of the fat head, his free hand wandered lower until it found Dean's balls. The glands tightened; they were small and hard as marbles as Sam rolled them carefully in their equally tightened sac. "Love your boys," he continued his raunchy commentary. "And I'll give them a tongue bath, too, later," he promised. "Or maybe I'll give you the good, hard fuck you _begged_ me for earlier, and then lick my cum from your quivering hole."

Sam knew that it wouldn't end this way because they had to use condoms, but he couldn't stop himself when he heard his brother's breathing hitch and watched Dean's eyes turn glassy.

"Are you close yet?" he asked hoarsely.

* * *

Was he close?! So close he could taste the rising climax, close. It might be months before Sam could do _that_ to him, and now Dean was going to be walking around half-hard all the more, thanks to the dirty talk. Earlier, the same scene of Sam fucking him hard and fast had ended badly, and now here it was being offered up to him and more. All kinds of more! The thought of that raspy pink tongue licking out his hole, his slit, was the final straw. Sam fondling his contracted testicles hit another of Dean's hot spots, and he couldn't stop them as they broke and began to heave his load before he could answer. The first spurt hit Sam's palm and smeared through his fingers.

"NNnnnng... Mmmph, mmph!" Dean grunted. "Oh god, Sammy, uuugh..." If they'd not have been submerged, he'd have filled Sam's hand and then some. Strangely subdued, maybe because everything moved slower under water, his balls squeezed in on themselves repeatedly, like they had to struggle to push his seed out. It hurt, but in a good way he wanted to experience again and again. The rough stroking of Sam's fingertips to the edge of the crown just kept it going. Unable to stay upright on his own any longer, Dean flailed a little, wrapping his arms around Sam as he thrust and grunted and trembled and came. 

If not for the water, they'd have been a sticky mess again. He chuckled weakly. "Your mouth... Filthy. Should wash it out with soap but I loved that shit. I jizzed so hard..." No doubt Sam knew that already, but orgasming always had made Dean momentarily stupid. Giving his brother a quick squeeze, he let him go, for now, landing on his butt. "Let's wash for real and get the hell to bed," he slurred. His eyes were drooping, too, and falling asleep in the tub wasn't his idea of a good night's sleep. 

* * *

"Yes, that's it, let it all go – for me," Sam coaxed when Dean lost it spectacularly, groaning, grunting, and pretty much collapsing against Sam's chest. As much as Sam was tempted to wrap his arms around his shaking brother, he kept his hands where they were, easing up on the strokes when Dean's shuddering indicated he was oversensitive.

"Thought you might like it when I talk dirty," he finally replied, blushing a little. "After all, you do it with me all the time and, well, let's just say, it does things to me," Sam winked. "Good to know that we share that." Now that Dean's climax was officially over, he hugged his brother hard, then let go. 

"About washing, how about we give each other a quick scrub – and then rinse thoroughly. I wonder if there's more water or more 'stuff' in the tub by now." Sam reached for the shampoo and poured some on his hand. "Ready for me?"

* * *

"Share... Huh, like the gallon of our genetic codes we're currently floating in?" Dean pulled a face, but only for show. Seeing the shampoo bottle in his brother's hand, he considered insisting on taking care of Sam's hair first. Then he remembered the bandaged shoulder they'd bypassed checking and decided not to further tempt fate. 

"Only 'cuz of this," he gestured toward his shoulder, "yeah, wash my hair in your sperm, Sammy. Mine, too, I guess. 'S not like we haven't rolled in the _stuff_ before. The shampoo oughta cancel it out." A loopy grin flashed across his face before he put his back to Sam and leaned back, trusting him to hold him up enough to keep water from slopping over the wound.

"You were right, that I liked your dirty mouth, though." Dean peered up at the underside of Sam's jaw and nose. His brother wasn't given to strutting, posturing and double-entendre when there was the slightest chance they'd be overheard, unlike Dean who pretty much lived and breathed it. It was an incredible turn-on, when Sam let down his walls. "Obviously. Not saying it's for every day but... damn, bro."

In their whole lives, this was the first time Sam had done this for him; washing their bodies with soap, they'd done on many occasions as part of foreplay. And of course, Dean had helped his little brother all the time till he could manage on his own, or when he was sick or injured, because that was his job. The newness and caring sent a wave of warmth to Dean's heart. He tried to remember he wasn't a 'caring-and-sharing' type of guy, but his level of tiredness and Sam's fingers in his hair stole away his defenses. 

* * *

Sam's dick twitched when Dean mentioned rolling in their 'stuff', but he was too wrung out to get hard again. "I'm sure there's reports on the Internet that sperm is good for the skin," he winked as he worked up a lather and washed his brother's hair, careful not to let the suds run into Dean's eyes. "You know," he said softly while massaging Dean's scalp with his fingers, "you've done this for me for so many years when I was little, and also later. It's about time I return the favor."

Grinning widely, he continued, "The same goes for talking dirty, by the way. You did it to me for years..." The fact that Dean didn't swat at him told Sam how tired his brother was. He poured more shampoo on his hands and rubbed them over Dean's back, chest, and arms as far as he could reach, then his legs and feet. "Turn around so I can wash the rest of you. If you want me to _do_ your butt, you might wanna kneel up, but I should tell you that there's no way I can get it up again right now."

* * *

"Doubt I could either," Dean replied. They'd said the same before, to find out it wasn't true at all, but he needed some recovery time. "My butt is a little sore thanks to your gigantor dick, so," he snorted, "be gentle." 

The act of kneeling up, facing away from Sam brought with it little needle-darts of mixed emotions: embarrassed lust, because Dean so rarely gave in to that particular need. And, some leftover guilt, though Sam had told him he'd done nothing wrong. 

He had, though. He'd given his brother, teenaged in his mind, what they'd both determined that he should have, years before – his body and his love, fully. He'd said so many things – most repeatedly, to his shame, how they'd always be together, that he'd never leave Sam. And that's exactly what he'd nearly done. Maybe the whole thing had been a repeat, in a slightly more explicit shade, of what had played out a decade before. Sam didn't deserve the same crap thrown at him a second time, no matter it had taken an hour to resolve this time, rather than years. He was almost going to say something, but bit it back.

Then too, as Sam touched his ass and washed his hole so carefully while he held still, his lower body went into hyperdrive, but his cock could do nothing other than thicken a little, no more. "Just as well, because we'd probably be shooting blanks if we went another round. I already washed your ass, so how about your hair now? The extra-special ingredient might be good conditioner." 

Sam's hair was a thing, and they both knew it. He was a bit vain about it if nothing else about himself, and other than when they couldn't afford any accommodations at all, it always was soft and shiny.

* * *

Sam would have been gentle in any event, but Dean's admission that he was a little sore made him even more careful when he washed his brother's ass. When he'd finished, he kissed Dean's shoulder and offered, "Maybe I should put some of Charlie's ointment on you before we go to sleep." He kissed Dean's neck and the other shoulder, then waited for his turn.

"The extra-special ingredient may be a good conditioner, huh?" Sam asked with twinkling eyes. "In that case, why don't you shoot some directly on my head next time? You owe me for putting that 'Nair' crap in my shampoo that one time – my memory has definitely returned that incident!"

* * *

"I'll shoot it where ever you want. Favorite place, though? So far up inside you, you can taste it." He ducked his head a little over their youthful pranking. Sam had never been quite as mean about it. Not that he'd admit it. "Superglue-ing my hand to the beer bottle wasn't too nice, either. My _right_ hand. Couldn't hold a weapon or whack off for days!" 

Turning around again, Dean motioned for Sam to do the same and lie back for his hair-washing. "I promise, no more Nair." 

* * *

Again, Sam's dick twitched, harder this time, when Dean told him his favorite place to shoot, but it stayed limp: apparently, his body had caught up on being twenty-four. At age fourteen, Sam would have no doubt been hard again. As it was, he felt a little relief that he didn't have a stronger reaction. He was simply too worn out for another round, but didn't doubt that he and Dean would go again once they'd rested.

"Couldn't whack off for days, huh?" Sam shrugged. "Just so you know, I couldn't either – not with all the itching from the powder you salted my pants with! Man, I was so sore I could hardly pee without screaming! You were better off, you could have used your left hand!"

Sam laid back and closed his eyes, smiling when he felt Dean's hands on his head. "This is so nice," he sighed. "We should make bathing together a habit, don't you agree?"

* * *

"Well, I'm not quite ambidextrous enough for that." The heavy pranking had taken place before they'd gotten together. Since taking care of himself had been impossible, Dean had taken care of his libido with a partner, one of what now seemed like a faceless horde. Sure, there had been a few that stood out in his mind – Cassie, Lisa, Rhonda – but all of them paled in next to Sam. He tried to avoid mentioning his past much. Some was brutal and painful and hurt Sam more than him, to talk about. He'd never been monogamous before, for more than a few weeks. Now, Dean would have only touched someone besides Sam if it was fuck-or-die.

Musing over this, he rinsed the shampoo from Sam's long hair, freeing the lather from the individual strands around his hairline and avoiding getting it in his ears. Sam had closed his eyes, and Dean drank in all his features again: the high, broad forehead and cheekbones; neat, dark brows and lashes, smallish nose and mouth. Whenever Sam talked, and especially when he smiled, his dimples were plain mesmerizing. Then, those fugly sideburns of his that Dean was always bitching at him to get rid of. His body was long and graceful; Sam hadn't yet grown into his full measure of chest and shoulders – it would be a few years yet, Dean estimated. Long neck, longer body, more dark hair under his arms, at his groin and on his legs. 

"It's pretty unlikely that we'll find many cheap motels that are gonna have bathtubs like this. If we can swing it, though, this was fun. And hot. Sure isn't like the three-minute showers, plenty of them cold, that we grew up on, huh?" Dean helped Sam sit up again, squeezing water out of his streaming hair. That wasn't entirely true. By the time they hit puberty, both boys had found the shower a place of refuge and privacy. Probably the only one when their dad was around. Pulling the plug, Dean stood and let some water run off himself, then stepped out of the tub. Towels were on a metal rack nearby – he took one for each of them, and turned to Sam. "Ready?"

* * *

Sam snorted. "Three minute showers – in particular cold ones! – have their advantage if there's no lock on the door and a suspicious Dad outside." He sighed. "I wonder what he'd say if he saw us now. I hope he's found his peace and is happy for us."

Stepping out of the tub, too, Sam took the towel Dean held out for him. His brother looked gorgeous in his naked glory. Where Sam tended to hunch sometimes as if he could hide his height, Dean stood almost proud. Tiny droplets of water clung to him, and Sam was close enough to make out every single freckle on Dean's light skin. There were many – too many – scars, too, and Sam now remembered how Dean had gotten each. Soon, there would be another one from the shot wound Sam – Meg – had given him. Raising the arm probably hurt. Sam still wasn't sure if he felt guilty for what he'd done while being possessed, but at the very least he could help Dean with the injury.

"Let me dry you so you don't have to move your arm," he suggested, then winked. "Even if it's your left hand that's out of action now, you can always ask me for help. Not only for washing and toweling you dry, that is."

* * *

"Dad would... I dunno what he'd think, Sam. When we were younger, it was always such a big deal, keeping it a secret from him. You, uh... This is probably something you don't want to hear but before I became the primary money-maker," Dean raised an eyebrow, "Dad did... you know. Sometimes. For cash. So he has no right to condemn us. You have a generous heart, Sam... While I hope the afterlife is good for him," Dean had his doubts, "having you as my lover is something I _would_ stand up to him on." 

Dean held still while Sam rubbed the towel across his body, drying him off. It wasn't strictly necessary, but it felt good and having his brother's focus and hands on him did, too. Terrycloth had never been what he considered a sexy fabric, but he was willing to change his opinion as Sam wiped down his arms, back, then his ass and legs, and finally his crotch, absorbing the water caught in the hairs. "You wanna dress me, too?" he smirked. "Or I can dry you." The air in the bathroom was steamy, but Sam was goosefleshed anyway from standing there naked, dripping wet. 

* * *

"I'll dry myself – this time," Sam replied. "You be careful with your arm. I bet it hurts like a bitch. My head does," he added. "And no, I don't wanna dress you," he leered. "In fact, why don't we sleep naked? It'll save us from washing our pants later, if you get my meaning."

Sam finished drying off and slung the towel around his waist. "Bed?" he held a hand out for his brother.

* * *

"Bed," Dean agreed. "We'd better make a dash for it, and lock the door." No, it wouldn't do to have Bobby walk in on them tangled together nude, or in the middle of... whatever. Dean wasn't ashamed of them, but nor did he really want to surprised with Sam's dick his mouth, or his tongue up his brother's ass. 

Concerned for Sam's health as well, he asked, "Is it just a regular headache, or should I go look for the good drugs, as far as pain-killers?" He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and tucked it in. The little bundle of clothes and things was where he left it, and Dean gathered it to take back to the room. It was kind of a case of the lame leading the blind, with both injured and wiped out but they made it down the hallway, leaning on each other. 

* * *

"I guess I have a concussion," Sam said. "You still throw a good punch. It hurts, but I figure I'll be okay without painkillers once I'm horizontal. What about you? I hit you in the face hard in addition to messing with your wound. You want something for the pain?"

Sam had asked before and he wasn't sure if Dean was ignoring the question or if he was simply too tired to care. Dean would always downplay his own injuries so as not to upset Sam. This time, however, Sam needed to know how bad it was. After all, he – his body – had caused his brother's pain.

They reached the end of the hallway. Sam opened the door to Dean's room and sighed with relief. "Seeing the bed is almost as good as a dose of morphine," he groaned.

* * *

"Sleep's gonna be the best medicine for me. Anything else, we can deal with in the morning." Dean made sure the door was locked – Bobby could pick it but he'd respect it unless there was a fire of some other disaster. Like Sam, he felt better just knowing he'd be horizontal in a minute. He waited for Sam to get in bed, then crawled in afterwards, since it was his habit to be the one closest to the door. Letting out a groan of intense relief the second he laid down, Dean couldn't help a giggle over how dirty it sounded, when it wasn't at all. 

"C'mere, Sammy. You let me know if you need anything, during the night. Anything at all." He slid over, turned on his side, and aligned their bodies together in the bed. Perfect. Quickly warming, skin on skin, his brother's strength. "Gawd, I missed this!!"

* * *

Dean's groan sounded almost sexual, but Sam knew exactly how his brother felt. "I hear you," he moaned. The moment he touched the mattress he went floppy as all his bones appeared to melt from his body. "So good..." he moaned again. "Listen, you need anything, wake me up..." Sam yawned. "If you can wake me up, that is..."

* * *

A huge yawn nearly cracked Dean's jaw. "G'night, Sam," he murmured. Leaning in, he kissed his brother's soft lips, then again. "I love you." He hugged Sam tight and closed his eyes, or rather, he couldn't keep them open a second longer.

* * *

"Mmh..." Sam hummed when Dean's lips touched his. "Love ya, too..." His eyelids fluttered and his shoulder twitched once. "Looking forward to waking up with you..." 

Held tight in his brother's strong arms, Sam told himself that this was too nice to fall asleep. He'd just lie here, enjoy the warmth of Dean's body, his clean scent and even breathing...

Sam was out in less than thirty seconds


End file.
